


The Devil's Footnotes

by BigDemoband



Series: Sympathy for the Devil, and The Devil's Details [2]
Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Excerpt Collection, Gen, Things not important/relevant enough to make it into the main story essentially, Tone? All over the place, ported from tumblr, specific chapters will have specific warnings, tags/rating to be changed depending on what comes up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 56,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigDemoband/pseuds/BigDemoband
Summary: A collection of excerpts pertaining to SFTD. Recommended to read after you are done with the main story.





	1. Maria's Resolve

The Archbishop could feel the energies of her Chosen’s reincarnation bathing his stronghold well before the Network notified her of such.

The Warlock had already told Maria that she would not be appearing in battle with him unless it was at his own stronghold or to capture the Commander, but she couldn’t help but feel a little testy. She was specially requested, specially  _made_  for the task of assisting him.

Perhaps it was a form of protection. Archbishop Maria did not have the sanctions of the sarcophagus afforded to her. She was confident she could hold her own in battle, but with XCOM’s forces getting more and more proficient with their weapons and tactics… she had lost many a sister. The Warlock was seeming more reluctant to bring them nowadays. His orders had been more to keep them inside of his stronghold, safe from threats… but also not able to assist him in battle. Such was his duality, of wanting to serve the Elders to his fullest extent… but not also wanting to lose his Priests.

Whatever the case, there was a more pressing matter. The mission Warlock Tessura embarked upon was not long ago at all. For him to return into the embrace of the Elders this fast…

No, that was inaccurate. To say that he was in Their care at all was as well–he would not have been thrown back so quickly.

Maria found herself striding through the halls of the stronghold, her God-given height lending more aid to her strides. She stepped on the portal for his Inner Sanctum and was quickly swept up in psionics, welcoming the vast power of the Elders’ Network as she was ferried to her destination.

She touched down smoothly as she was deposited into the new room, spying her Warlock in front of his sarcophagus. She caught him just in time was he was turning away, saying something she couldn’t catch from her distance. Maria could, however, see his despondent stance, and her connection to him keyed her in to his despair. She walked in further, just far enough that he looked at her, dropping into a bow when he did.

“My Warlock?”

She got a sigh in response, chancing looking up. Jax-Rai remained where he was, arms limp at his sides. The Elders truly  _did_  drop him off without so much as a consoling word, it seemed like. For just a second, her heart twinged with an emotion she couldn’t identify before she snuffed it out. Maria stood up, slowly stepping towards her Chosen. She felt the need to make conversation, even if it was about the obvious. “My Warlock… did the Elders speak to you at all?”

He shook his head, eyes lidded, not stopping her from coming closer. “It is my own fault. I have failed Them yet again, and I should be glad that They do not smite me where I stand.” After he said that, he shuddered, crossing and rubbing his arms. Because she was so close, Maria got a few ghosts of his feelings–fear, anxiety, and…  _acceptance._  Once again that twinge hit her but it was gone as quickly as it came.

The Archbishop stepped closer. “There will always be another chance, my Warlock. Give them time to recover from Their anger and surely They will be loving once again.”

He looked to the side, refusing to look at Maria. “I fear I am soon running out of chances… soon, I do not think They will have love left for me.”

This… was the most despondent she had seen her Chosen. The twinge hit her again but this time it stayed for a bit longer, and she identified the feeling– _wrath._  Her Berserker DNA speaking, surely. Something she trained herself to ignore, but in this case…? No, she could not entertain it. Especially since that wrath seemed to be directed at…

She shook her head, both to clear her thoughts and banish his worries. She stepped closer, putting a hand on one of his shoulders. “Warlock Tessura, surely you don’t mean that.”

But the Warlock seemed to be far away, his eyes unfocused. She caught his hands shaking and then the phantoms of memories hit her–of being torn apart by powerful psionics, far greater than she could imagine, being forced to the floor by Them, attacked from every direction specifically to overload his mind… She surely would’ve been just as lost in the memories if her Warlock hadn’t managed to timidly whisper something.

“It’s not fair.”

Spoken like a child… which was what he was. A scared child, punished by the Elders, worrying for when the next crack of the belt would ring out. That wrath hit Maria again but instead she channeled it, right into a hug for her Chosen. She was not normally the one to initiate contact like this but it was clear he needed it–and caring for her Chosen was the reason for her existence.

The Warlock froze for a second, standing there, but Maria could sense that he was out of the memory. Eventually, he quickly drew her in, as if afraid she would drop the gesture if he waited too long. His arms squeezed her tightly, so hard a lesser being would be crying out in pain. Maria’s sturdiness allowed her to stay there, pulsing her power into her hands and her Solace, smoothing them both over Warlock Tessura.

She could feel him shake and take in a tentative breath, shuddering it out. Maria kept her hands moving across his back, humming gently.

If the Elders did not wish to give him proper affection… she had no complaints that it would rest on her instead.


	2. Small Comforts

It had been another day of no response from the Elders.

Outright anger was one thing, but this silence They were maintaining? It was somehow even worse. Jax-Rai had been left with nothing to go on, nothing said that he could do to improve himself. He had thrown himself into meditation but it wasn’t the same with the absence of the Elders’ energy. So now, he was pacing in front of his sarcophagus.

He had his Priests on high alert for anything he could do, an outpost he could menace, just to do something  _right_  and hopefully win back Their favor. But, assuredly, after the last mission… they were not to accompany him anymore. He could tolerate no more losses. Yes, they were created to serve him and die at his side if he wished, but… as unwilling as his pride was to say it, the loss of them pained him deeper than just losing followers. Jax didn’t want to lose another to XCOM’s violent tenancies.

But, undoubtedly, losing the backup of his Priests meant the potential failure of more missions, which meant even more of Their anger or silence…

The Warlock stopped in his pacing, arms crossing and hands gripping himself. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do  _right,_  anyhow. It was simply out of his hands. He couldn’t stand this melancholy, this feeling of  _helplessness._  It made him feel like a  _child._  

Yet, an idea for solace came to him, even if it would be giving more into his childish tenancies in his eyes. But, did he not have his Archbishop created just for him…?

Jax sent out a quick pulse on the Network, directed at Archbishop Maria. It wasn’t long before he could feel energy coalescing at the warp pad, looking up as Maria appeared from the column of light. She quickly strode over to him and bowed once she reached him. “My Warlock, what would you require of me?”

In answer, he gestured for her to step onto the platform he stood on. She did, and he averted his eyes. “Sit, Archbishop.”

Maria obeyed the command without hesitation, settling into her usual meditation pose. Jax’s fingers twitched and he hesitated before he did what he was about to do. He eased himself into kneeling closely in front of her, then, leaned forward. Maria seemed to recognize what he wanted, because when he shifted into leaning against her, she steadied him, embracing him. She gently took off his crown with her psionics and set it to the side, allowing him to lean his had against her chest.

Once he had worked his arms around her in return, her Solace flushed to life, sweeping over him and meeting his psionics, which softly meshed with hers. Jax closed his eyes and squeezed his Archbishop, heaving a soft sigh as her signature pulsed, gently observing the deep purple of her psionics in his mind’s eye.

With the Elders’ signature gone, he knew this was as close as he could get to Their presence. Yet… there was something more to it. The gentle, but strong heartbeat he could hear through her armor. The arms around him. Finally, there was something different about the way her signature meshed with his–it was  _fuller._  It didn’t seem like it was being carefully metered out for one reason or another. Dare he think it? Dare he think that it was somehow  _more soothing_  than the Elders’ embrace?

He quickly latched onto a line of reasoning–Maria was tailor-made for him. Tailor-made for his psionic migraines and to be the perfect companion and symbol of power. A  _gift_  from the Elders. Perhaps, in a way, this was Their way of making him recognize that gift. He would–he swore from then on to give Maria more recognition, even if his pride balked at it. If she was a gift from Them, his pride could take a backseat.

… but did it have to? Perhaps he could do something with his pride rather than force it to be silent.  _Perhaps he didn’t have to ignore it like he was ignored._  Maybe he could put it somewhere else. His mind immediately shifted to Maria, and it felt right to think it. He could have pride in his Priests. In his Archbishop. He could have pride in the way she made him feel like he was  _home_ , in the embrace of someone who cared for him.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Maria’s fingers carding through his hair, and he gave a quiet sigh. His signature gave a gentle request and hers pulsed in affirmative–soon, her hands were at work braiding his locks, tying them up. The tender contact further calmed him and he moved more into her lap when given the chance, simply enjoying the motions he could feel her performing.

Jax hoped there was not going to be anything urgent coming up soon. He was fine where he was. He was…  _happy._


	3. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read Chapter Seven of SFTD, this might not make much sense. It takes place after the chapter, as well.

Eliza immediately knew she was in for a fun time when she woke up on her back.

That was always a prelude to some bad times. Eliza never went to sleep on her back but sometimes she could wake up on it… which always, always led to sleep paralysis. So here she was, on her back, awake, but the rest of her body wasn’t processing that fact.

Even if Eliza had dealt with this situation many times before, it did nothing to stem the dread that started to settle within her. Theoretically, staying out of the worst of it was easy. All she had to do was not open her eyes. Easy.

Eliza knew it was never that easy. There was always the primal compulsion to open her eyes and figure out what exactly was pinning her down. Which was nothing, she knew that. She knew that. There was no reason to open her eyes. Everything was fine.

Eliza opened her eyes.

Her room was dark, lit only by the ingrained lights in the paneling that let her see even if the traditional lights were off. It gave the room a low glow that still let her sleep. It also let her see the beast that was currently sitting on her chest.

It was ten foot tall, at least. Four arms were holding her down, pressing against her arms and shoulders. It wore her clothes–the Commander’s outfit she sported outside of her room. Bright, light blue irises stood out against black eyes. She could barely tell in the low light in the room, but the creature seemed to have bluish, or purple skin. Its cheekbones were high and its cheeks were almost hollow. It grinned, revealing razor sharp teeth.

Eliza had been pinned down by the Thin Man from twenty years ago. Eliza had been pinned down by  _that_  Elder. But not  _this_. Not this thing that sat on its chest and  _why did it look so much like her._  She caught the mop of hair on its head and the body shape that was  _hers_.

Memories clicked. The Siren kept grinning. Kon-Hur Dessurik would not move off of her. Eliza was trapped under the Depthssinger and there was nothing she could do to move her.

The Siren tilted her head, grin dropping a bit. She opened her mouth to speak. “ _Eliza,_ ” she rasped, holding the ‘z’ like an ‘s.’ She shared a voice with the Commander, but it was warped by her sheer size. “You could have been me, you know? Strong enough to stop this whole war, and certainly strong enough to stop the Beast that lies in the depths.  _Argus_  told you, you remember? _”_

Eliza said nothing. Her body was still paralyzed and she could not close her eyes. Couldn’t close out this monster on her chest. The Siren sighed. “ _Right._  There’s a lot you don’t remember. It’s a shame. They cared for you so much. Under Them, you wouldn’t have had to suffer like you do. No nightmares, no terrors… and hey, you could’ve even chatted up the Chosen like you want to. Doesn’t that sound good?”

God, the terror was mounting. Eliza couldn’t tell at this point if the Chosen on her chest was still a hallucination or not. Kon-Hur folded her top two arms. “A Commander of many words, you are. Sleep paralysis got your tongue as usual? You wouldn’t have any of this, back with Argus. Aren’t you and I champions of ‘love?’ What happened to loving Argus? Oh, yeah. Another thing lost to the Void. Poor, poor Eliza.” The Siren’s grin returned. “Maybe if you remembered how They loved you, you’d return to Them. After all, They kept you from–”

The lights flickered on and Eliza’s alarm rang out. All at once, the illusion broke–with the lights turning on, the Siren disappeared instantly, and Eliza took in a gasping breath. There was a stunned pause, and then she sobbed it out, immediately rolling to lay on her side and curl inwards on herself. That… was horrifying. Almost the most horrifying thing she’d experienced. That  _thing_  was her. She was nearly that thing.

Her hand sought out and pulled in a pillow, hugging it hard and crying into it. It was such a lonely experience. Eliza already knew she could barely tell anyone. Her first and foremost duty and appearance was as a Commander, and such a private thing she wouldn’t even tell Bradford. It’d involve getting into her night terrors, and god knows that would cause him miles of worry. Eliza saddled him with enough as is, in her eyes.

She forced her breath to steady. Slowly, a hand reached out and fumbled for her alarm, silencing it. The Commander took a few more deep breaths, her hand returning and wiping at her eyes. Nothing to be done but try sleeping on her stomach more often, she supposed. She wouldn’t become that  _thing_  so long as she kept on her toes, after all. Just another ghost to haunt her.

Eliza allowed herself another minute of stewing on it before she returned the pillow back to its usual spot, rising, and then stretching. It’d be just another day. Everything was  _fine._


	4. King's Journey

Storms were always an ordeal.

Even if Edgar had never walked among the Reapers as one of their own, he had learned of his own accord why they feared the things they did. Rain, for one. The ravens were built for the outdoors, to be outside constantly. He was not. Prolonged exposure to the elements would be a death knell for him, even for as bundled up as he was.

So when the percussion of thunder rang in the distance, a quiet dread gripped Edgar. He had been having his ravens watch the sky and silently hoping that the overcast wouldn’t turn for the worse, but whatever god was out there, the Elders must’ve been obstructing them. After all, if there had been a merciful god at all, the Elders would’ve never touched ground. But, Edgar figured he would’ve never met his “court,” either. Then again…

Shaking his head, Edgar half-turned the way he came. He was right between two Havens, by his judging. Advancing would be continuing his task and going to go for materials he’d use to beef up his coat–but it would bring him closer to the storm. Retreating would bring him into safety, but delay his errand. Choices…

He turned his head, regarding Nevermore, who sat on his shoulder. He and his companion shared a low mind-link with as close as they were and the irradiated raven seemed to get the question he was about to ask. “I think we should go forwards,” Nevermore croaked. “You have already made the effort to walk this far, and night will be falling. I can send the scouts ahead to see how far the storm is.”

Edgar nodded. “Very well. All else fails, I suppose you may extend your wings and act as an umbrella.” He joked, but with Nevermore’s size? It’d be viable.

Nevermore, however, took it literally, looking back to the path. “If it keeps you from illness, I will. I’ll let them know of the plan.” With that, Edgar could feel Nevermore sending out a pulse, and through Nevermore’s eyes, he watched as some of his omen in the trees took flight, disappearing into the trees ahead.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Edgar took to walking once more. As loathe as he was to advance towards the storm, he could find shelter in the haven ahead. He was well-known around these parts—he did not possess the title  _ Raven King _ for nothing—so room and board until the storm passed would be assured. It would just be the matter of getting there in a timely fashion.

Feeling a stick break under his foot, Edgar furrowed his brow and requested to look through Nevermore’s eyes. With a burst of color, Edgar could see the world around him. The forest was getting denser in the direction they were walking in, and the floor was getting draped with fallen branches. Not wanting to stir up too much noise, Edgar kept his steps light and precise. Years of walking on his own like this lent to a natural stalk that only a Reaper could outmatch.

The trek was quiet. His ravens had nothing of note to report other than the storm. Even if there was nothing occurring, Edgar felt a teensy bit on edge, waiting for something to disturb the stillness. He even requested Nevermore to angle his head around, searching for threats of his own volition. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust his court—Edgar had learned a natural paranoia through his time of wandering alone. He just... couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen.

Outside of more rumbles of closer thunder, nothing did. The forest broke, and Edgar stepped into a man-made clearing, the haven proudly standing in front of him. This had been one of the more well-developed havens he’d visited; if their leader was to be believed, they’d been host to XCOM themselves once or twice.  _ I’ll believe it when I see it, _ was his thoughts on the matter. He firmly believed in XCOM, though if he would join was another matter. If they wouldn’t accept his court, then that was that.

With confident strides, Edgar made his way into town. There were people about, bringing in clothes from laundry lines and hoisting tarps to protect more vulnerable shelters. As his omen drew in their ranks closer to him, he saw through Nevermore’s eyes how their heads turned, how one or two of them even perked up in recognition. Edgar lifted his head and eased into his more regal pace as he was in town proper. He had an image to uphold, after all.

As much as they recognized him, it seemed the residents were content to steer clear for now, more busy finishing up the preparations for the oncoming storm. He was certain there were rain collectors for the precious water, and he’d been to a haven or two before that had rudimentary machines that could draw power from lightning. He left them to their duties, focused on a shack central in town.

Rounding it to the door, he knocked. “Bastion.” Edgar always sounded like he had a frog in his throat, and this was no exception. Maybe he played it up a little for anyone outside of his court... “I’ve come with supplies from Tranquility Falls.”

“Ah, come in, Edgar!” Was the response from inside, and Edgar opened the door, letting himself in. The inside of the improvised home was a little homely, but there had been care put into the construction and little sentimentals added over time. The man that went by the codename “Bastion” was sitting at a desk. He was in his fifties at most, and it wasn’t hard to tell he was ex-military. Edgar sat down as his ravens filed in, the last one catching the doorknob and finagling the door shut.

Edgar shrugged the backpack off of his back, setting it down. “I’ve got the tech that Denmother sent me with,” he began, “and one of my ravens makes it a game of his to try and pick things off of ADVENT patrols without alerting them. So, I’ve got you an Elerium Core as extra.”

Bastion grinned, pounding a fist on his desk heartily. “Excellent! You’re a real good omen, Edgar. Here for your usual supplies?”

He nodded... but then hummed. “—If I may? I hate to leverage the core—I think I will give it to you regardless—but I’ve heard the seamstress here has an extra kit in her stores. I know she may be using it as spares in case her own tools break, but I’ve been meaning to secure one of my own.” He gave a tired smile to convey his point. “I’d like to start patching up my own coat instead of bothering whichever haven I pass through to do it.”

Chuckling, Bastion shook his head. “I’m sure I can swing that for you, Edgar. If you need a room for the night due to the storm, we’ve got a few extra beds to go around.”

“Hardly need a bed,” he muttered, “so long as you’ve got a room big enough for me and my court, I’ll be fine.”

“Even so. I’ll check around.” Bastion leaned over. “—the backpack a part of the deal?”

“Consider it so.”

Bastion’s grin remained. “Could always use some more of these for our runners. Thanks, Edgar. You’re a bright spark as always.”

Edgar smiled. As much as he liked his absentee reputation... he could get used to the warmth of others.


	5. An Interrogation

Tygan hadn’t expected getting a new assistant when the Skirmishers sent their second recruit.

But there Samhien was, across from him as they did their latest autopsy into a Viper. Technically, they had already completed it–but once Tygan had shared what he had gathered from his first go-round, Samhien was adamant to show him what he had missed.

Tygan, honestly, felt humbled. He knew the cards were stacked in Samhien’s favor regarding knowledge of how the Elders’ soldiers worked, but even still, he found himself professionally impressed as Samhien delicately lifted one of the venom sacs on the dead Viper and pointed to a tiny organ under it. “Seen here is an auxiliary organ to the venom sacs itself–from what I gathered of the description of your first autopsy, it sounds as if you cut through it while doing your first dissection and never noticed you had. A reasonable situation–there are only so many cuts you can perform to extract the sacs without damaging this or any of the tissues around either organ. I do not blame you in the slightest for having missed it the first time.”

Tygan nodded, tapping away on the datapad in his hands. Samhien was doing all of the “dirty work,” as it were, so it left him free to take notes. “Even so, I would imagine some of my initial research would have gone more smoothly had I known of such an organ. It’s simply a mistake that rests upon my own shoulders.” Silently, Tygan chastised himself for missing it, regardless. Perhaps there was no blame to be had from Samhien, but he blamed himself well enough. Tygan always found something to be wanting in his work. Ever since he learned that his forceful extraction of the Commander’s chip gave her, as far as he had seen, PTSD…

He hadn’t noticed Samhien had stopped his presentation until well into the tenth second of silence. Tygan looked up from his pad to notice Samhien was staring at him, concern evident. “Dr. Tygan. Does something trouble you? Really, there was no way you could have known of it.”

Tygan shook his head, looking over the dead Viper for want of looking at Samhien. “It’s nothing, Samhien. As you were saying?”

But tellingly, Samhien did not resume his teaching. The Skirmisher straightened. “Dr. Tygan, you are lying–to me and yourself. There is something bothering you and that will bring you anxiety, which will affect the transmission of signals in your brain, which will reflect in your work and cause you more anxiety and worry! Please, there is something more troubling you. I sense it.”

The light caught Tygan’s glasses and he lidded his eyes. To speak, or not to speak. It was true that there was more bothering him. A lot of it concerning the Commander, for one. But as far as he was concerned, they were thoughts to be deliberated over later, when war didn’t hang over their heads. If “later” ever came. Quite frankly, Tygan could take “later” never arriving, in the sense that he would continuously put dealing with such thoughts on the backburner as long as possible.

But, Samhien was right. Tygan knew he could stand to keep to himself, but for how long? Every time he considered bringing the Commander into the lab to examine another breakthrough, all he could think of was the look of  _ terror _ that crossed her when she spotted the extracted chip and the Stasis Suit, and how fast she turned on her heel. The sight of it hurt–and not just professionally…

He could feel Samhien’s gaze boring into him. To speak, or not to speak…


	6. Network Glitches

It was originally a day much like any other, for Argus.

Monitoring the year-old Network, for one, while the Trio coordinated their efforts to establishing the Empire’s hold on this planet called Earth. They had to make sure it was running optimally before They turned their attentions towards other avenues, including updating progress with the rest of the Collective.

This meant continuing Their guidance with the Commander.

She had only been integrated for a year, and she had put up a fight for half of it until They exactly calibrated the balance of keeping her aware enough for her subconscious to be active, yet subdued enough to not realize her situation. They wouldn’t want her distressed, after all—it was unnecessary. The Commander could simply do as the Collective wished at a pacified state. Those  _ psionics _ of hers certainly eased the job, once They had allowed them to flourish. A dormant, but powerful Gift, she had.

“Update progress on Session #925.”

_ “Understood,” _ was her reply, and Argus watched from the Void as she uploaded the simulation she was currently running. Of course, she gave Them the data of the wargame she was currently winning—dressed up as the guidance of troops to crush the “aliens,” Eliza was actually flushing out and disposing of her own kind—the Resistance. The technology wasn’t perfect, and Argus would admit it still needed work. Sometimes human faces still scanned as human faces… but, the science behind it was young. There was room for improvement… even if Argus still detested some aspects of all of it.

The full details uploaded, and with a few adjustments, Argus could see the real data on what she was focusing on. A gas station in an occupied area, with a few of their conquered races to her name. Hm, not too standout. Perhaps Argus could focus on something else for once. Her psionics, for one, there was much to be trained and fostered. More conversation, as well. Eliza was… a desirable choice for this. Argus still wanted to know more of her—

_ “Bradford?” _

Argus turned Their attention back towards the feed. Through the eyes of one of the Sectoids, They spotted four humans in cobbled-together gear. The one at the front… yes, Argus recognized him. Jonathan Bradford, her second-in-command.

Wait. Did Eliza just—

_ “BRADFORD!!” _

The Void thrummed, and the Network lurched with the sudden surge of packets as Eliza screamed out his name. Argus reeled a bit, but was quick at work, starting to safely sever her ties with the observational aspects of her login on the Network.

_ “Don’t disconnect me you fucking bastard, let me kill myself he’s out there let me see him BRADFORD _ — _ ” _

Eliza’s form blinked into existence in front of Them, and she whipped around to Argus, face contorting in rage. “ _ Bastard. _ You’ve been—that was—that was Bradford and you were going to have me  _ kill him?! _ ”

Argus shook Their head, extending a hand to her. Her aura was blue, unlike Theirs, a soft hum compared to Their presence. “Of course not, Elizabeth. It is why I had asked to monitor your session. I wouldn’t wish for you to kill someone so beloved to you.”

Eliza stared at Their hand, instead opting to look Them in the face with disgust. “I’m sure. And the battles I’ve been winning—who have I been winning against, huh?! What are you doing to me?!”

Argus shook Their head, kneeling down to be more on Eliza’s level. “Elizabeth—”

“ _ Don’t call me that _ —”

“Eliza. You have just been running wargames, and occasionally the programming with the civilians you save is mixed with the aliens you must eliminate. It’s simply an error on my part, and why I pulled you out. I mean you no distress, and I’m sorry that it happened.”

Eliza simply stared at Them, but her disgusted look was beginning to drop. The aura of sincerity that Argus was giving off was having an effect. “And Bradford being out there?”

“Another such swap, and a very unfortunate one at that.” Argus rested a hand on her shoulder. Eliza moved to bat it away, but Their next words made her stop. “I can remove him from the simulations entirely if you wish, just so such a thing doesn’t happen again.” Argus didn’t favor having to lie like this, but if They were going to keep what little favor They had with the Collective…

The Commander considered that for a long moment, eyes flitting to the side and the hum of her signature stalling. “… no. If… if I’m really running simulations, like you said… I want that companionship, at least.”

Argus chuckled. “Am I not one for your kind of conversation?”

Eliza scoffed. “I would  _ hope _ not. Isn’t like you and I have friendly chats much, anyways, and some part of me wants to keep it that way.”

Argus waved it off with one of Their other hands. “Nevertheless, I will be making more time to converse with you. It’s hardly civil if I lock you up here without much in the way of communication. For now…” Argus brushed a lock of her hair out of her face. “It’s been three months. Would you like to rest?”

She stared at him a bit longer, before sighing, closing her eyes. “As long as I actually get to sleep, fine. Send me back.”

They nodded. “Sleep well, Eliza. You and I will hopefully be able to speak when you wake.” With that, They pulsed Their signature, and Eliza was pulled from the Void, sent to sleep. Argus straightened. There was more work to be done on her connection to the Network, certainly, and perhaps They could tighten up the chip a bit more so she wouldn’t become so distressed again…

_ Let me kill myself. _

Argus shook Their head. The thought was… unpleasant. They wouldn’t like to lose Eliza, more than just losing such a valuable asset. This… attachment, spoke of potential danger, but Argus waved it off. They would let Eliza sleep for a week as They worked, and then? 

Perhaps there was some more to be gleaned from “friendly chats.”


	7. Early Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be part of a mini-series detailing Mordenna's first year or so with the Elders.

Six months of training. Six months of tests.

Ref-Il Mordenna kneeled in front of his Sarcophagus, eyes wide open as they flitted about the energies keeping it suspended in the air. Curious. He had known this life for a year now–a first year filled with strenuous tests and trials. It was worth it, he was told. He was the Chosen Hunter.

“ _ Do you see now, Ref-Il? What constitutes this device?” _

The voice of Father,  _ Odin _ , filtered into his mind. Ref-Il gave it a few more once-overs before replying. “… Void-based energies,” he began softly. “This isn’t so much what revives me as a gateway to the Void itself, where You reconstitute me. I…” He furrowed his brow, looking long into the silvery sheen of his Sarcophagus. “I can’t identify the compound. I can see traces of titanium and iridium, along with the ‘astral metal’ the armor You granted me is made out of.”

Odin’s laugh was a soft, hissing chuckle. “ _ Excellent. I did not expect you to fully identify it–though you managing what you have means you are performing above parameters. Knowledge of the main material is reserved for the Ethereal Collective. _ ”

Ref-Il closed his eyes. “I understand.”

“ _ Understanding info is one thing, child. To use it to your advantage is another. Take this first, unguided day to go out and gather what you can. _ ” The presence of Odin in his mind began to lift. “ _ But remember this–your brother, Jax-Rai? He is not to be trusted. Learn of him. Know his weaknesses. Stay close enough to sink a dagger in. _ ”

Nodding, Ref-Il waited until the presence of Him was back to nothing. He was left in his Inner Sanctum to contemplate his thoughts. His mind buzzed lowly with the hum of the Network–he could feel some of his mind’s processing power being filtered into it. Not enough to matter to him–it had been a condition since his birth. A part of his mind eternally devoted to the Elders.

He would not have it any other way.

Ref-Il moved to stand, turning and walking through his sanctum. Knowledge. So much to gain, so much to be used to his advantage. Odin had instructed him to make his own weapons, something better than the rudimentary set he had been given. Ref-Il could already think of more than fifty improvements to the prototype sniper rifle he’d handled and he fully intended to put them all to use. But, how exactly?

“Simple,” he muttered softly to himself. He couldn’t explain the compulsion to talk to himself. It started happening after his six years of imprinting. “Logical conclusion to the inability to modify and manufacture my own weaponry would be to learn.” He crossed his arms close to his body. “Extensive fieldwork can be done once I have armed myself accordingly. To guide is one thing; to support is another.”

Stepping on his Ascension Pad, Ref-Il watched as the Void around him shifted and twisted, creating a safe capsule for him as it shunted him across  _ worlds, _ ferrying him from his sanctum to his Stronghold on Earth. Calculating the landing velocity in the time it took him to be transported, he was fully prepared and braced when he landed.

“ _ Brother. _ ”

Ref-Il looked up slowly. Before him stood someone who looked almost related to him–tall, purple-skinned, prominent cheekbones and slightly sunken eyes. A half-circle tattoo running across his forehead and connecting his eyes. Long, white hair, red psi-horns, and near full armor, with his biceps exposed. Gauntlets, as well. All conclusions led to this being his predecessor, the one he was meant to succeed– _ Jax-Rai Tessura. _

The Hunter stood up from his crouch. “Jax-Rai. Do you have business with me?”

His senior looked at him with mild disdain. Despite Ref-Il being on the higher ground, he could easily tell that Jax-Rai would be taller than him if he was on his level. “Merely to observe the brother the Elders have gifted me. I must say, you are of a lighter build than I would expect for a Hunter… though I believe the Elders have plans in all actions They make. Do you believe as such, Ref-Il?”

It seems as if it was Jax-Rai’s full intention to consider him a brother. Genetically speaking, they couldn’t be related at all. Odin and Cronus were far different Ethereals from one another. But, of course, it was circumstantial. Ref-Il started to slowly walk down the steps. “Of course. The reason for my reduced body mass compared to you is to create a more subtle profile in the field. Capes were deemed too unwieldy to disguise my silhouette, so a hooded jacket such as the one I’m wearing now was an acceptable alternative. Less weight means lighter tracks I leave behind me. I fully believe in the Elders’ vision,  _ brother. _ They tell me I am the perfect Hunter, and I intend to live up to such.”

It was a moment, but Ref-Il watched as every subtle inflection on Jax-Rai’s face conveyed the fact that he’d passed some unspoken test. Jax-Rai’s arms, formerly crossed, relaxed and fell to his sides. “I see we will have no quarrel with an attitude such as yours.”

_ He is not to be trusted. _

Odin’s advice flashed across Ref-Il’s mind, and he picked over it a bit.  _ Best he doesn’t think I know that for now, _ was his response, and he nodded. “I’d rather not pick fights that aren’t useful to me. Stay out of my affairs if I don’t want you in them and I’ll do the same for you. Sound acceptable?”

Jax-Rai bobbed his head. “I can hardly find fault with it. Remain loyal in your mission and thorough in your duties and you will find success in Their will. Who knows,” he said, turning to leave, “perform well enough and I might be accepting to help you in future.”

He fully turned his back. For a split second, Ref-Il considered pouncing… but thirty-seven different ways that could go wrong played out in an instant in his mind, and he stayed his place on the stairs. Jax-Rai could go free, for now. Ref-Il watched him leave fully before his eyes slid to the left of the doorway.

There was much to be learned.


	8. Phantom Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter coincides with the events of Chapter 13 in SFTD. Warnings from there--the effects of abuse and the implications of it here--fully apply.

Mordenna had thought today was going to be a decent day. As things would turn out, he’d rank it right up there with the day he’d realized the Elders weren’t such hotshots.

His sister had been freshly captured and thrown into her cell and he was ready to head down to the Workshop to hopefully just work things out and not think too hard for a few hours or so. There were always tweaks to be done to his weaponry, of course, and he’d been meaning to experiment with a new woven mesh to his armored vest.

Mordenna’s pace in the vents was casual, not too much minding the noise he might’ve been making. He was absolutely fine with spooking anyone below, though he tried to keep a cap on it with the Assassin captured. Wasn’t a stretch to assume someone jumpy might think she’d gotten out and try to solve the problem themselves.

The first sign of trouble Mordenna got was when he was descending one of the ducts and felt an odd squeeze of his chest. Stopping in his tracks, he immediately sat down and inspected his vest. No, no pinching there. Wasn’t like his clothes were constricting him, either. So why was his heartbeat speeding up a bit? The pace he was going at shouldn’t have disturbed anything at all.

The chest squeeze continued, but there was an odd… disconnect, to the feeling. Mordenna’s heart continued to race. “What the everloving  _ fuck? _ ” He muttered, a hand grasping the front of his armor. In a haste, he undid the vest and threw it off. Already, his mind was racing for a diagnosis. With their immune systems, modified by the Elders, they shouldn’t be getting any sort of illnesses that might cause this. Was his body breaking down? Was it his fault? Why did he have to mess things up like this?

Wait.

Mordenna’s brows furrowed. Those… those weren’t  _ his _ thoughts. How the hell—

That was when the pain started.

Mordenna collapsed in the vent, sucking in a gasp of air as a familiar, yet different feeling overtook his back. It felt as if he was getting one of his usual rounds of punishment—but it was not the striking, punishing force that Odin usually put forth. There seemed to be different spots being struck on his back in quick succession.  _ As if to overload him. _ With the pain, Mordenna finally realized what was happening. Jax was getting punished, and it left him—and Fal-Mai, he bitterly thought—to deal with the ghosts of it.

But, this had to be different. Mordenna felt like his back was getting boiled alive. Surely it shouldn’t be this powerful if he was just getting the ghosts of it, right? Mordenna had gotten afterimages of Jax’s migraines that weren’t as bad as the real thing. If this was the pain  _ he _ was feeling…

The assault continued, and Mordenna curled in on himself, desperately trying not to make a sound. Jax’s bewilderment was now his bewilderment, and he lost track of what room he was above, if at all. He couldn’t betray what he was feeling to some nobodies. He couldn’t let them know that the pain and the specter of Jax’s feelings was enough to make tears squeeze past his eyelids as he took silent, shuddering breaths.

It was going on for far, far too long to be any round of traditional punishment. Cronus must’ve been trying to vaporize Jax on the spot. How would it feel, to experience a sibling’s final death? Not even that, but a final death by being unmade? Of being slowly, painfully annihilated where he lay? Mordenna couldn’t think. All he could feel was the pain, and how much he and Jax wanted it to stop.

All at once, it did. The pain at his back dissipated. The vents were silent once more.

Even so, the memory of the feeling left Mordenna curled in on himself, anticipating anything. A second round, another lashing of feelings… It was hard to tell if the dread suffusing his chest was his own, or not. Perhaps a mix of him and Jax. 

Mordenna only uncurled and hissed out a breath when a flood of relief went through his system, movements gentle, as if he would stir up the pain again. Palming at his eyes, he took the moment of peace to regain stock of his surroundings. If he remembered correctly, he was right between two rooms, both of them frequented by soldiers. Best he didn’t make any noise, after all. Not wanting to dwell on his feelings somewhere he might be heard, he gingerly collected his vest, put it back on, and began to move again, crawling near silently.

As he moved forwards, his thoughts went to what just happened. That… was far too brutal a lashing for just Fal-Mai getting taken, wasn’t it? If Mordenna didn’t know any better, it was like Cronus was trying to nip that potential last kidnapping in the bud—in the worst possible way, granted. He took a deep breath, trying not to think on the pain. It was  _ fine. _ He was used to it. He could deal with it.

Eventually he reached the vent over the Workshop, opening it up and looking in. Empty. When he left the Bridge, Lily was still there. They’d had enough time to secure the Assassin and take off, so she must’ve gotten wrapped up in conversation and planning with the Commander. That all just worked to Mordenna’s favor—he wanted isolation. He prepared to drop down.

**_ANSWER ME!!_ **

What should’ve been a regular descent turned into a free-fall as Mordenna lost control of himself, mind ringing with the force of spectral words as he landed on the floor in a heap. The pain of landing so harshly should’ve been nothing—but even still, Mordenna could feel his eyes stinging again. Of course. Jax was going through aftershocks. It was familiar…  _ too familiar. _

Mordenna took in a gasping breath, a hand reaching out and dragging him closer to his workbench. He had to be hidden. Lily could stumble in any minute now. But his trembling limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Jax’s terror and grief hardly needed to encourage his own when he was suddenly swept up in old memories. He’d just wanted to ask questions. He was built for efficiency. Why should he be struck when he merely performed his duty? Why should he be struck when he, not a perfect system, occasionally failed? Why?

He got as far as being half-hidden by the counter before he choked out a sob, curling up on the spot. Mordenna pressed a hand to his eyes, the other arm hugging himself.  _ No. _ He was beyond this. He was past this. He’d gotten used to this. It may have hurt in the moment for him, but punishment wasn’t supposed to mean anything anymore. But Jax’s feelings aggravated his. Taking deep, shaking breaths, Mordenna tried to hold them for as long as possible before hissing them out. He hadn’t openly sobbed in fourteen years, and he didn’t intend to start now.

Tears streamed past his eyelids and he cursed every second of agony he had to go through. Maybe it wasn’t Jax’s fault—it definitely wasn’t—but it was directly what Jax was feeling that was making him suffer like this. Seething, venomous thoughts rose.  _ It’d be easier to kill him off when you get the chance. No more enduring this. No more having the past thrown in your face. He shouldn’t be alive to shove his feelings into your skull. _ As much as Mordenna wanted to reason against it, another stab of his own memories surfaced and his next breath out threatened to be a sob.

He tensed, not of his own volition.  _ Odin asked what he had to say for himself. _ “I-I’m sorry—”

His chest heaved, almost feeling like it was trying to turn concave. He hated this. He hated every single moment of time that passed. He hated Jax, he hated Odin, he hated himself. He hated how he had to feel. In his sorrow and the terror forced upon him, the only thing Mordenna could cling to was hatred and spite.  _ One day. One day you’ll strike back against him. He’ll repay in blood. Father was right. _

A bit of the edge of the storm was taken off, but it wasn’t nearly enough. It wasn’t enough to stop the plans of revenge, against who, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough to stop the thoughts that he didn’t have to feel if he was  _ dead. _ It wasn’t enough. He didn’t have to feel if he could just get over to his weapons. He knew his Darkclaw was on the table. He reached up, starting to right himself.

His fingers got to touching the receiver of his gun before the storm lifted more and more. Rationality returned, and Mordenna’s hand slipped off of the table as he rested his forehead against it. What… what was he doing? This was just as temporary as it got. Once they had Jax, there wouldn’t be anymore cataclysmic events like that. Just the standard fare. As he contemplated that, Mordenna stared blankly at the material of the workbench. He took in a breath.

“God, Mordenna,” he muttered, voice shot, “you’re  _ pathetic. _ ”


	9. Making Tea

Moments like these, Fal-Mai cursed how little basic knowledge she had.

In an effort to try to get more into this “friendship” business, Fal-Mai had wanted to make tea for her and Eliza—maybe just some for her and Sammy if she lost her nerve. Having at least the knowledge that she should head over to the Mess Hall if she wanted to prepare food of any kind, she found herself crouched down, starting at a variety of machines she couldn’t discern the purpose of. Well, one of them with a glass pot underneath it she somewhat recognized, if a little grimly; she’d seen it in cleared havens before, and it seemed to be a bit of a staple.

Fal-Mai had tea before. She’d just never been taught how to  _ make _ it. Hot water had to be involved somewhere. Was there a machine for it? Where were their stores of tea? Was she even looking in the right location? Honestly, Fal-Mai didn’t even know where to start, and it was a little demoralizing. Not knowing how to do something as simple as prepare tea was humbling, and told her how little common knowledge she possessed.

“Fancying a cup of coffee, Assassin?”

A familiar voice made her turn her head, watching as Bradford walked up behind her. Looking back to the machine in front of her, she sighed. “I was hoping to make tea for Eliza and I, but... I fear I do not know how.”

“Yeesh. Elders didn’t teach you Chosen much, did they?” Bradford came to stand next to her with an empty mug, setting it down on the counter. He joined her in staring at the machine. “Of course they’d empty my brew and not make a new pot,” he grumbled, before grabbing the glass container under it. “Here. Eliza’s not much for tea—and I don’t know how to make it either, anyways—so I’ll show you how to make the coffee she likes.”

Fal-Mai followed after Bradford as he went over to the sink, putting the glass pot under the faucet and turning the water on. “You’re going to want water, first of all. You’d want to shoot for better quality where can, but, not much we can do about that here.”

“Is the Avenger’s water not filtered?”

“It is,” he said, gesturing, “but enough to make it safe to drink. Lily’s the one in charge of maintaining that, but Raymond’s the one who came up with the filter. Does a pretty good job, at least—haven’t heard anyone complain about the water.” He sighed. “ _ Yet. _ ”

Raymond was an unfamiliar name to her. She almost sought out the Network in order to place him, but decided the source she needed to ask was right here, anyway. “—who is Raymond?”

“Kinda surprised you don’t know.” Bradford picked up the now-full pot, walking back over to the machine. He lifted a top part of it and continued to talk as he poured the water in. “He was Lily’s old man. Responsible for a lot of the features on this ship before Lily got ahold of it. Was there at First Contact alongside Eliza and I.”

Ah. So he was the head of engineering before Lily took his place. “Where is he, now?”

Bradford was quiet for a moment, emptying the pot and putting it back in its place. He responded after a bit. “Gone. I don’t know what happened exactly but he went along with some of our personnel to try to make a difference, out there, promising to keep in touch. We... we lost contact with him after a while, and it didn’t take long to figure out the tower he was keeping holed up in got raided by ADVENT. Nobody survived that I knew of.”

The answer made Fal-Mai hush up with her questions for the moment. She hoped Bradford didn’t see her as a nuisance for asking so many. Eliza had said it herself; how was she going to learn if she never asked? Still, she felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry. Had I known, I would not have asked so callously.”

Bradford shook his head, reaching up into a cabinet and taking out a clear container filled with dark brown, almost black powder. The label read “DEATH RATTLE COFFEE.” “Don’t be. Never going to know if you don’t ask—and I figured it was the case, anyway.” Seems Bradford and Eliza were of like minds on a few things. He gestured to the coffee machine, bringing her attention back to it. “Before you put the grounds in, check to make sure there’s a filter in there.” That must be the white, thin, paper-like object in the machine. “Seems someone was decent enough to replace it. If you need more, there’s some in the cabinet with the grounds.”

He pulled out a drawer, grabbing a spoon. “You’re going to want to fill the filter up to a certain degree. I don’t know how many tablespoons—I try not to dirty those so the cooks have them clean. After a while, you learn to eyeball it.” He opened the container and started to fill the filter. It was then that the smell of the grounds hit Fal-Mai—the face she made must’ve been funny, as Bradford looked back at her and chuckled. “Yeah, my mix isn’t for the unprepared sort. You build up a tolerance to it—but hell, it’ll keep you awake far longer than adrenaline would.”

Humans were very, very strange creatures. “You would ‘build up a tolerance’ to something like this?”

“Coffee’s got caffeine, Fal-Mai. We need caffeine to stay awake around here, and we’ve grown to the point of needing some very hard stuff.” After a bit of filling the filter, he pointed to it. “You’ll want this much of the grounds in there if you’re making a full pot—which we tend to do, since anyone can stop by and make themselves a cup.” He closed the lid and hit a few buttons, and Fal-Mai could hear mechanical parts in it come to life. “—think I heard Mordenna wanting to tweak this thing so it’d brew faster. I’m all for it, but I’m almost afraid to hand ol’ reliable off to him.”

“He is a competent engineer, if nothing else,” she remarked. Her gun was thanks to him, after all... and perhaps she really did need to hand it over to him so he could tweak it. She owed him that much after pestering him with insensitive questions. “As...  _ interesting _ as his projects may get, I believe it would be a wise choice.”

“Fair enough. Only problem is that we’re going to be without a coffee maker for as long as he’s working on it, and I imagine that’d cause some people to riot.” An almost-black liquid started to fill the pot, and the smell filled the room. “That’s it for the coffee, really, if you like it straight like I do. Eliza doesn’t, so I’ll show you what to add when this is done brewing.”

Fal-Mai contemplated for a moment before coming at Bradford with her next question. “How long have you known Eliza?”

Bradford whistled at that, scratching his stubble. “That’s a question. We met in boot camp where I had to apologize for one of my dumbass friends for thinking he could pick a fight with a woman like her. Obviously, he hadn’t met Eliza. He got court martialed later for something related, so he wasn’t cut out for it all in the first place. We were pretty quick friends after that before XCOM came around and recruited the both of us to the program.” His expression turned grim. “She doesn’t like to talk about what she did there much, so I won’t either. She got taken at First Contact, and I escaped, but only because of her. To answer your question? Over thirty years.”

Thirty years. Fal-Mai had only known Eliza as she did now for a month or so. Bradford was father ahead of her than she could ever possibly hope to be. Crossing her arms, she looked down. “It must be nice to have known her for so long.”

“To be fair,” he muttered, “twenty of those were apart from her. And...” He sighed. “Eliza was... different, before those twenty. Sterner, to put it lightly. How to put this...” He looked to Fal-Mai, mouth set into a line. “Old Eliza probably wouldn’t have given you guys the chance she has.”

Oh. That was certainly a way to put it into perspective, even if Fal-Mai couldn’t imagine an Eliza like that. She nodded at the information. “I... understand, even if I cannot fathom her being like that. She’s just...”

“Kind? Soft? Has an ear for anyone who needs listened to?” Bradford looked back to the pot, filling up with coffee. “You and me both, Fal-Mai. I was shocked, myself, those first few days of her being out. I’d gotten used to the Eliza of old, so to have her going around, being genuinely kind to Tygan and Lily? Took some getting used to, but I wasn’t complaining.” He gave a tired smile. “She made me look like a fool. I’d built the soldiers up on expecting a tough, no-nonsense Commander, and the first thing she did was sit down, introduce herself, and get to know all of them. Half of them thought Eliza was pulling a joke, the other half thought it was me being a joker.”

Bradford saying that with a smile on his face truly told Fal-Mai she didn’t have the breadth of experience to make such a phenomenon make sense. Then again, when she thought over Eliza... she wanted to smile, too. Even at more somber memories such as her comforting Fal-Mai in the Resistance Ring after what she had learned of her creation. Was Eliza just that kind of person who could make anyone smile?

He chuckled, leading Fal-Mai to discover she  _ was _ smiling. She looked away, pouting. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Bradford assured, “Eliza’s got this aura about her that tends to make people feel a bit better.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure that might be literal, nowadays, but that’s beside the point. Whatever you thought of Eliza before, with the Elders, I think it’s safe to discard that thinking.” He paused. “Actually, I don’t think I ever got around to asking why you wanted to make Eliza tea. Something special?”

Fal-Mai’s face further heated up. Truth be told, she’d been thinking of Eliza fondly before she had arrived here, and wanted to do something for her. Making tea was about the only thing she could fathom of, since Sammy was the one who introduced her to the idea indirectly. But, as with Sammy’s reaction to reading her fondness for the Commander, something told her that she shouldn’t tell him the actual reason. “No reason,” she muttered, “other than wishing to repay her how I can for taking me in as she has.”

“Good on you.” Seems Bradford believed her. “Always nice to have someone caring for Eliza rather than the other way around. I take pride in my job, but that woman needs to see she can lean on other people instead of having to be strong by herself all day.” He settled his hands on his hips. “Maybe if she hears it from more people outside of me, she’ll start to believe it.”

Yes, Fal-Mai remembered the incident, not too long ago. Even though her brothers had openly—and correctly—guessed that she was there in the Infirmary, she wasn’t going to reveal her hand. Eliza... she hadn’t guessed she could break down like that. The thought squeezed her chest, and made her want to lie beside her as Mordenna had. “I will see what I can do, Central. I... do not wish for her to suffer.”

“You and me both, Assassin. You and me both.”

Some silence spanned between the two of them, and it was long enough that the pot finished filling. Clearing his throat to break the quiet, he grabbed another mug out of the cabinets, as well as a container of what looked like sugar. He went over to the refrigerator, grabbing a gallon of milk. He came back with it and started to pour out the coffee into both mugs. “Eliza never has her coffee straight. Some days it’s just sugar, some days it’s just sugar and milk. Considering she’s negotiating with some havens today, I’d say she needs both.”

Done filling the mugs, he took the milk and poured a bit in, Fal-Mai noting down the exact amount in her head. He then spooned in some sugar. “Three is usually her gambit, and I don’t blame her. If you’re not me or Lily, you kind of need to dull this stuff down to make it drinkable. Got all that?”

She nodded. “I am sure I will remember it for the future. Thank you, Bradford.”

Bradford began to place all the components back, including the coffee pot. “Happy to help. And... far be it from me to say ‘stop worrying Eliza so much,’ but what I do want to say is... I think I’d be willing to hear you out regarding what might be troubling you. The impression of you I get is that you’re genuine, but need to ask a lot of questions to get up to speed, which is understandable. You understand what I’m saying?”

Fal-Mai blinked. It wasn’t as if she was adverse to the offer. Bradford simply did not strike her as the type to care. Perhaps it was the interaction between him and Mordenna that fostered this. “... I do, Bradford, but you will have to excuse me if I do not think you as the kind of person who would be concerned with a Chosen’s worries.”

“Me neither, a while ago. But I think Eliza’s rubbing off on me.”

She nodded slowly. “Eliza... is a good influence, I believe.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. Still, we have a deal?”

She didn’t think she could fully confide in Bradford just yet... but there was a question or two brewing in her mind that she believed she couldn’t ask Eliza herself. Perhaps he would be a good alternative. “I believe we do. Thank you again, Bradford.”

“No problem.” He picked up his mug, sliding Eliza’s to her. “She should still be in the Resistance Ring right about now. She could probably use the pick-me-up right about now.”

Picking up the mug, Fal-Mai gave Bradford a gentle smile. “I will see to it that she receives it.”

Taking a sip of his own mug, Bradford bobbed his head. “Don’t forget to tell her who taught you.”

Still smiling, Fal-Mai returned the nod and walked out of the Mess Hall, keeping the mug steady. Bradford, despite his appearances, struck Fal-Mai as a kind person, almost in Eliza’s vein of being. Perhaps he was more worn from the passage of years and showed it more than she did, but there was a certain warmth to the conversation they had held. It left Fal-Mai considering his offer further.

She eventually made her way to the Resistance Ring, tapping the panel and stepping on it. The screen at the end of the room was darkened, and Eliza was slumped across one of the couches. Seeing Fal-Mai enter, she perked up. “Oh! Hey, Fal-Mai. What do you need?”

The Assassin shook her head. “I require nothing of you, Eliza, other than to take what I offer you.”

Fal-Mai walked over and offered Eliza the mug. Recognizing what it was, Eliza’s face lit up and she took it, taking a quick sip. “Oh, Fal-Mai, you’re a doll. Thank you.” The praise... certainly was not unwelcome, but Fal-Mai had to fight back a blush. After another sip and some blowing on the coffee to get it to cool down, she looked to her. “—I didn’t take you to know my blend.”

“Bradford taught me.”

Eliza grinned. “Aww. You and that man are real treasures, you know that?” More praise? That blush was getting harder and harder to fight. “You know what? Maybe I need something of you, Fal-Mai. Mind sitting down?”

“N-not at all, Commander.” With that, Fal-Mai gently sat down beside her. To her surprise, Eliza softly lifted her arm and leaned against her side, relaxing.

“Oh, good god. Fal-Mai, running relations with havens is a mistake. Don’t do it. You’d think after this long in the war and ‘taking out’  _ three whole Chosen _ I’d have more of a bargaining chip up my sleeve but you would be  _ wrong _ and so much more.”

Having Eliza this close was very distracting, and Fal-Mai’s arm draped over her shoulders was even more so. Still, she did realize what Eliza was doing—she was venting to her. Bradford mentioned this would be a good thing. She nodded quickly. “I-I would think that they would learn some gratitude, but... I  _ am _ only one year old.”

That got a laugh out of Eliza, who tried to keep her mug straight as she did. “Hah! I wish I had that specific brand of optimism.” She took another sip, face falling a bit. “It’s. It’s alright if I just gripe at you, right?”

Not knowing too much what to do, Fal-Mai found herself patting Eliza’s side. “Of course, Commander. I... believe you could use the relaxation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I could.” Even as she said it, Eliza didn’t seem to believe it. Still, she remained leaned against Fal-Mai, a smile returning to her face in a moment of quiet. It turned into some form of annoyance as she went on. “Ok, where was I. Right. This joker called Bastion thinks that Edgar is some sort of  _ bargaining tool _ for supplies! Apparently he’s got it in his head that he’s the one who led us to Edgar, when I distinctly remember it being Edgar’s choice to join up with us. I cannot imagine...”

As Eliza continued, Fal-Mai found herself relaxing in the situation. Eliza’s closeness still stirred something in her chest, and she found herself wanting to know more about these feelings she had. She felt as if she wanted to hold Eliza closer and tell her secrets, or even teach her what she knew of her own weaponry. She couldn’t place anything on what it was she felt, but the feeling made her happy. Eliza made her happy, and that was all Fal-Mai could ask for.


	10. Haircare Needs

As Jax stood in front of the bathrooms’ mirror, clutching a lock of his hair, he was beginning to rethink this whole XCOM deal.

He was in a state of mild panic as he looked over the hair in his hands, gauntlets temporarily off and set to the side. It had been a few days now, in the Avenger, but the damage had already been done. His hair, once a silvery white and soft as clouds, was now turning dull and merely smooth as opposed to unbelievably silky. The haircare products on the Avenger clearly weren’t up to the task of keeping his hair up to his usual standard—but he had hoped against hope that it would be  _ this _ bad.

It was a travesty! His skin would largely maintain itself, but his hair was a special exception! It need not be merely  _ acceptable, _ it had to be outstanding! Indignant, Jax could also confirm the same malady was befalling the hair on his chest. Oh, the agony. It wasn’t a bullet or a streak of plasma that would be the death of him, it would be  _ subpar hygiene. _

What was he to do? All of his special formula shampoo was at his Stronghold, and it was his Mystics that handled ordering more when he ran out.

Dropping the lock of hair, he set his gaze in determination.  _ His Mystics. _ Perhaps one of them would know a solution. He was sure none of them had smuggled a bottle of the sacred shampoo, but maybe one of them knew the formula? It was a shot in the dark, but he had to take it. Putting his gauntlets back on and throwing on his undersuit and armor, Jax stalked out of the bathrooms.

Of course, with his psionic-sensory abilities, he could easily find where his congregation was—currently in the Mess Hall, leftover from lunch and largely the only ones still in there. They all perked up as he entered, and he strode over to them, sitting down amongst them. “My followers.”

“Holy Father,” they greeted in unison. He nodded to himself.

“Surely a few of you have noticed the tragedy that has befallen me on this very day.” At that, he could feel their mood shift from happy to concerned. Rightfully so, in his eyes. “Indeed; my condition worsens as my days on this ship drag on. I fear something must be done before it reaches a truly reprehensible stage, but I fear I may lack the tools to do so on my own.”

The members of his congregation sat closer to him and started asking what they could do in so many words. After a few more seconds of worried whispers, he held up a hand to silence them. “It is simple if one possesses the knowledge, but that very knowledge may be at a premium.” He gazed over his followers seriously. “Do any of you recall the formula for my shampoo?”

There was a moment of almost stunned silence amongst his own. Surely they could realize the gravity of the situation and were trying to recall if they knew.

At least, Jax thought that before a majority of them started laughing.

He was left baffled as the mood had once again shifted to one of mirth; watching as his followers—chiefly the non-Mystics—snickered and tried to suppress laughter. He pounded a fist on his leg, indignant. “I will have you know this is a serious matter! It is of utmost importance that I—”

“I know, Holy Father.”

The laughter stopped shortly as all eyes turned to one of the Mystics. It had been Bastet who had spoken up; she was chiefly one of his best sculptors, but she also did a lot of the numbers around the Stronghold. “I recall it. What would you have of me?”

Short, sweet, to the point. That was Bastet. He nodded. “If there is no way to procure it, surely...”

As if taking his words under consideration, Bastet tilted her head... then nodded. “I understand. Tygan, yes? He would be able to replicate it from my knowledge.”

Certainly it wasn’t what he was thinking at all—he hadn’t even thought to get Tygan involved—but he wasn’t about to admit that in front of the rest of his congregation. If they found him wanting to be in physical form hilarious, he could only imagine the chortles he’d get admitting that it hadn’t been his idea. “Precisely. Come, Bastet—we must be about solving this situation.”

Without any further commentary, Bastet got up as Jax did, and the two of them took a silent trip off to the Lab. Admittedly, he hadn’t the foggiest if Tygan would be able to replicate it or not. Explosives, acid, and poison were one thing, he could tell. Shampoo? An entirely different field.

Eventually, they happened upon the Lab. Jax opened the door and carefully ducked under it, making sure Bastet made it behind him before walking further in. Tygan himself was watching what looked like data on a screen. He must’ve heard them come in, as he turned and nodded to the two of them. “Jax. Bastet. Do the two of you require something?”

Jax half-turned and gestured to Bastet. “I would like to inquire if you are able to replicate something for me, but I believe it would be best if Bastet lists off what I require.”

Bastet, taking her cue, walked up to and bowed slightly to Tygan. “Doctor Tygan. May I borrow a datapad?” At that, Tygan offered her the one in his hands. Taking it, she rapidly tapped through a few options and brought up a few items in a list, looking over it before presenting the screen back to Tygan. “Are you able to procure these materials somewhat reliably?”

The looks in Tygan’s eyes changed from curiosity to recognition as he eyed the list. “—judging by what you are asking about, I take it you would like a specialty shampoo? I already fabricate a solution for the soldiers so we do not have to rely on trading with havens.”

“Precisely,” Bastet replied. “The special ingredients required are themselves compounds. Judging by the inventory list I was able to glance at, you have everything required. Would you please make the Holy Father his shampoo?”

Tygan looked between the two of them for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “My schedule is not so clogged as to make me decline. I would be able to manufacture your specific formula soon. I imagine the other soldiers—”

“It’s not,” Jax said, quickly interrupting. “It’s not for them. Simply a personal request on my part. I humbly ask that I am the only one to receive this formula.”

Further eyeing Jax, Tygan seemed to think for a while regarding the whole situation. He eventually came to an answer, silently requesting the datapad back. As Bastet handed it to him, he began. “I suppose I can honor your request—it’s not as if I would be gaining anything out of spreading it against your will. But.” He leveled a look at the Warlock. “I do have one condition. I have noted Bastet’s prowess in her field, and have heard of her skill. She was able to size up my inventory at a glance and knew what she would need to manufacture the exact ingredients I would need. If you wish to keep this shampoo private, I request that I have Bastet as an honorary assistant. I will need her help regardless to make what you ask of me.”

Hmm... to share his Mystic... well, it was as Tygan said. She would be able to help him make the shampoo, and it wasn’t as if he needed Bastet on a daily basis. He looked to her, silently asking her opinion. She matched his gaze. “I will go where you tell me, Holy Father. Though, if I may speak, I would cherish the opportunity.”

That was that. He nodded to Tygan. “Consider Bastet your assistant for as long as she wishes to stay.”

Jax could swear he saw Tyan flash a smile just for a second—but it was as gone as quickly as it came. “Excellent. Expect to have your new shampoo ready shortly.”

Jax grinned. At least one person around here saw the importance of it.

 

* * *

 

Jax held a lock of his hair to the mirror, smiling gently. Silvery white, and as soft as clouds. His chest hair was much of the same quality. It seemed as if the manufactured shampoo Tygan was making was doing the trick. Everything was right in the world once more, and he would no longer have to waste away under subpar conditions. Just because there was a war going on didn’t mean he had to go without his usual personal care routine.

A wolf whistle from elsewhere in the bathroom turned his attention, and it was none other than Moody. “Am I ever glad to be a bachelor! I can definitely see why you were one of the Elders’ Chosen—they plucked you right of a painting, didn’t they?”

Jax was no stranger to others admiring his appearance, but something so brazen almost made him want to turn up his nose. As it stood, he gathered his bodysuit. “Your compliments have been noted and filed, but if you presume to court me, you are—in a word— _ bold. _ ”

Moody shrugged, leaned up against the wall. He had a towel around his waist and not much else—with his hair down, it was clear how much the braids did to shorten the length of it. “Gotta put myself out there if I hope to achieve anything—and I’ve had a taker or two before. You’re just a tall drink of water and I am  _ mighty parched. _ ”

Jax scoffed. “If I were indeed from a painting, you could not afford to even see me, much less take me home.”

Moody clutched his chest. “Oh, come on, I’d like to think I’m a bit of a higher standard than that, love!”

The Warlock turned away from him, putting on the top of his bodysuit and replacing his chestpiece. “I am far too rich for your blood, mortal.”

“And who could buy you, then?”

Jax’s mind immediately shot to one answer and he turned his face away from both Moody and the mirror, lest he see the look he surely wore. “No mere rube such as yourself, that much is for certain. Consider your advances rebuffed.”

Moody sighed. “Alright, alright. I’m flirty but I’m not pushy. You go on your merry way, and consider me jealous of whoever does land you.”

Giving a short “hmph” to note he heard Moody, Jax put on his gauntlets and left. Jax did not ever consider romance a prospect for him—humans were below him and his “equals” were his siblings. There were none who could match him in status, and he wasn’t interested in dating someone he did not think he deserved.

_ Of course, you consider Eliza an equal. _

He sighed through his nose. He could not entertain such a thing, especially having harmed Eliza as he had. Besides... she, most likely, didn’t see him in such a way. She was a Commander, he was a soldier. A high-ranking soldier and close enough to her to be comforted in his times of need, but a soldier nonetheless.

Still, even as he was shooting the concept down, he found his hand running through his hair, fluffing it out. Perhaps she would notice...


	11. Breaking Free

Today. Today would be it. Today would be the day he sprung himself from this hellscape.

Those exact words were running on repeat in the Viper King’s mind as he watched, coiled up in his test tube. He eyed the humans, in their white coats, that ambled around and checked monitors. Shazara-Ta didn’t know how long he had been captive in this facility, subject to tests and procedures that warped his very form. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had been taken from his home planet, deposed as the rightful king and kidnapped by the Collective. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had fought a futile war with the invaders from beyond the stars.

He did, however, know how much longer he would wait until he sprung himself... and his fellow  _ test subjects. _

His eyes slid over to the containment chamber across the room. There, the Archon King hovered, giving an eyeless glare to the scientists that paid him no mind. Shazara-Ta didn’t even know his fellow ruler’s name—but as it turns out, they both knew ADVENT, and that was enough to make plans in broad view. It seemed none of the personnel their captor had amassed knew their language, and that allowed them to formulate an escape. They just had to wait; there was one person in particular that had to arrive for her daily checkups in order for this to happen.

They didn’t have to wait long. Shazara-Ta’s eyes flitted to the door at the far end of the room as it opened, and in stepped the despicable slag that watched over them like a jailor to inmates— _ Vahlen. _ Shazara-Ta had heard her name enough times beyond the glass of his tube to know it’s what they called her. For the abuse he suffered, for the abuse she made the others suffer, she would die slowly and painfully.

Discreetly, he looked over to the Archon King. His own eyes seemed to be locked on Vahlen as well... but the signal came through as clear as the day. He flared the props on his wings in a specific pattern, indicating he was ready. In response, Shazara-Ta rapidly vibrated his hood—a symbol of aggression with the pattern he chose, but here? It was a sign of rebellion.

Clutching his chest, the Archon King’s thrusters began to flicker out, sending him bumping into the walls of his cell. If this had been any other species feigning death, he knew it wouldn’t work—the scientists had visuals on their vitals on their screens. But something Shazara-Ta had been informed about Archons is that they could take control of the machinery in their body down to an impressive level. The Archon King was shutting down vital systems to serve as a distraction.

It worked—the scientists began hurriedly rushing over to his station, pressing buttons and uttering words he couldn’t understand. Vahlen herself ran over, providing her own commentary. The Archon King crashed at the bottom of his cell, unmoving, and this sent the humans into a further panic.

If Shazara-Ta wanted to do this, he had to work fast. His fellow king couldn’t keep those systems shut off forever without killing himself. With that urgency in mind, and with the taste of freedom so close, Shazara-Ta rose from his despondent coil on the bottom of his cell. Using his natural mobility and the scales on his underside, he rocketed up the glass of his cell and launched off of it in the minimal space he had, careening his tail forward and putting massive force into striking the glass.

The glass shuddered violently, and he could see a head or two turn towards him. He had to keep trying. Scrambling up again, this strike created webs of fractures against the glass where he hit it. Another strike sent them shooting further out, and he could feel the glass starting to buckle.

One more strike, and his prison shattered in an explosion of shards.

That was enough to send some of the humans screaming out of the room, sure of their fate now that one of their test subjects had escaped. Not wasting his moment long, he felt his hood vibrate in anger and adrenaline, venom rising up his throat. He would sicken them and make them feel just a tenth of the agony he had. Squeezing his chest, he spat it out behind them, intent on trapping them against the cloud.

What happened, however, reminded him of the detestable things Vahlen had done to him. Instead of a cloud of poison, once the liquid hit the ground, it formed a large chunk of ice. Some of the humans that had been too close or already running for the door found themselves trapped within it regardless. As much as Shazara-Ta wanted to mourn for what had happened for him, there was far larger prey to take down. Vahlen herself was backing away in a panic, spotting the one area the ice didn’t cover and making a break for it. Shazara-Ta found himself starting to course after her—but a thought stopped him up. What if the humans had thrown some sort of killswitch in the Archon King’s tube? Vengeance was one thing... but the Viper King had grown very attached to his fellow test subjects. Leaving him to die so he could get his revenge wasn’t something he could abide by.

Turning around, he could see the Archon King’s thrusters activate again, propping himself up on the glass as he sluggishly got up, no doubt groggy from what he had just performed. Shazara-Ta couldn’t claim to know what the buttons on the console meant, and knew that mindless mashing could be the king’s further doom. He could easily coil around the glass and shatter it... but without a cushion, he’d undoubtedly get a few glass shards in his tail for his troubles.  _ Without a cushion. _ He hadn’t spent his whole allotment of  _ freezing _ venom on his previous expulsion. He could use a layer of ice to protect himself.

Making his way up to the other tube, he brought up his venom again, applying it evenly around the lower middle section of the tube. Once he had a good enough layer going, he turned to the Archon King. “Get down!” He barked in ADVENT. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Nodding, the Archon King dropped to the floor once more. Sliding up the tube, Shazara-Ta coiled himself around the layer of ice he had created. The tail muscles in Vipers were to be feared—as he squeezed the tube, cracks rapidly formed, and he could already feel the material bending. Just a second more and the Archon King was freed in a shower of sparkling glass, the ice acting as an effective protection.

Landing right next to the king, Shazara-Ta righted himself, offering a hand to his fellow ruler. The Archon took it, jets activating and propelling him into a stable hover. The two shared a quiet moment before the Archon King’s head jerked back towards the door. “Vahlen. Where is she?”

The only humans that remained were the ones trapped in the ice, and Shazara-Ta had half a mind to go over and kill them right now. Vahlen wasn’t among them—presumably having escaped as Shazara-Ta freed the Archon King. No such love lost for the trapped scientists, it seemed. Shazara-Ta clenched his fists. “Escaped. I wouldn’t leave you behind to kill her if it meant you dying from a failsafe.”

The Archon King looked... surprised, to hear that. Maybe slightly touched. “That... is noble of you, Viper.”

“It’s only fair. Without your distraction, I wouldn’t have escaped.” Speaking of escape, his head careened around. “Best we get the others out. I don’t think the Berserker Queen wants to spend another moment in there.”

“Right.” But before Shazara-Ta could make his way to the Berserker Queen’s area, the Archon King grabbed his arm. “... Rodin. My name is Rodin.”

Looking back, Shazara-Ta paused for a moment. He now had a name to put to the Archon King. Wanting to return the favor, he nodded. “My name is Shazara-Ta. Let’s get the others out, Rodin.”

Not wasting a moment more the two of them made a course for one of the other doors in the room, leaving the humans behind. A corridor or so later and they ended up in a large room. There were monitors on the wall, hooked up to a camera feed that showed the Berserker Queen, curled up in her cell. Half of the room was taken up by her containment, with no windows to speak of in favor of maximum security.

No windows meant nothing either of them could break to free her. As Rodin flew over to the console, trying to make sense of any of it, Shazara-Ta scanned the room. Surely there had to be some sort of emergency switch he could flip, or perhaps... his eyes locked on a bit of white coat poking out from a piece of machinery. Slowly, he stalked up, rising up and above the machine. Sure enough, there was a human behind there, hiding and shaking terribly. Feeling no empathy for the trapped human’s plight, Shazara-Ta swooped down and plucked the human screaming from its hiding place, dragging it over to the console. 

Rodin stepped aside as Shazara-Ta forced the human against the console, making sure he had its attention before pointing to the door. Hopefully that was a clear enough indication. It seemed like it was, as with shaking hands, it entered in a sequence that Shazara-Ta paid close attention to. Klaxons blaring, the door to the Berserker Queen’s cell slowly started to open.

Having seen to it that the human did its job, Shazara-Ta threw it in the direction of the door. It took the hint, scrambling up and out. Rodin started after it, but Shazara-Ta stopped him. “It did its job. I’ll allow it some gratitude by letting it escape.”

“And the door to the Gourgeamus Queen?”

“I watched the sequence the human put in. It should work for the other cell.”

Their conversation was summarily interrupted by a terrifying crash against the opening door of the cell. The Berserker Queen was just beyond, trying to force the door open. Shazara-Ta rushed over, making sure he was in sight. “Berserker Queen! Can you understand us?”

The sight of one of her fellow Rulers, free, fully stopped up the Berserker Queen. Head swiveling from him to Rodin, she looked back to Shazara-Ta, nodding. Good. Hopefully the Gourgeamus Queen also spoke ADVENT. “We’re getting everyone out of here. The door will open on its own.”

The Berserker Queen’s head bobbed again, but even still, with an impressive display of strength, she forced the door fully into its frame, stumbling out. The machinery on her back was plainly visible, and while the pumps were inactive now... Shazara-Ta turned to Rodin. “Get her out in the open and start severing what you can of that accursed machine. Something tells me it’s not any good for her.”

Turning to them, the Berserker Queen growled and grunted in what was assuredly a language... but not one either of them could speak. If she knew ADVENT, why was she speaking her own language? Then again... the ADVENT language kind of required a tongue and lips, neither of which she seemed to have. She could understand it, but not speak it, went Shazara-Ta’s guess. Still, he shook his head. “We... can’t understand your language, Berserker Queen.”

With an impatient growl, she pointed to Rodin. Then she pointed to her back and mimed a yanking motion. Pointing to Shazara-Ta, she then pointed to the door, miming the act of opening a door. Understanding, Shazara-Ta moved for the exit. “Just my thinking. I’ll spring the Gourgeamus Queen. Get those tubes out of her, Rodin.”

“Understood. Good luck, Shazara-Ta.” After hearing Rodin’s well-wishes, Shazara-Ta hastily made his way out of the Berserker Queen’s containment, through the joint containment, and into the final room. It was much like the other queen’s room, with half of it being taken up by the cell itself. This time, there was a window into the chamber, allowing him to get a better look at the fourth Ruler.

She was impressively tall, standing at the Berserker Queen’s hunched height. Her lower body reminded Shazara-Ta of some of the four-legged reptiles from his planet, while her upper body was vaguely humanoid. A veritable bouquet of flowers adorned her head, while leaves and vines trailed down from it. Sharp teeth and four slitted, glowing-gold eyes accented her face, and she was even more built than Rodin. Her skin was a verdant green and peppered by leaves and hanging vines, with four fin-like leaves extending a ways away from her back. Bulging spores dotted and lined her more reptilian back, and her tail was capped off by what looked like a trapping plant. Throughout her form, there were highlights of glowing purple, almost fluorescent in nature.

Seeing Shazara-Ta free, she rushed to the glass window of her cell, pressing her hands against it. He could see her speak—but the glass was too thick to allow any communication. Shaking his head, he slid over to the console, inputting the sequence of buttons he’d seen the scientist do. Sure enough, the door to her cell started to open, and he rushed to the crack in it. “Gourgeamus Queen. We’re all free.”

She was quick to join him at the door, peering out. “—please tell me Vahlen’s dead.”

He sighed. “I let her escape so I could free Rodin.” If they had any escape devices in this facility, she was likely long gone. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. Better to make sure that everyone gets out than have your revenge.” Looking back over her body, her shoulders slumped. “Look at what she’s done to me. I should’ve never adapted spores like this—and what does she think I’ll do with this dysfunctional tail? It will take me ages to adapt this all out...”

Feeling a stab of jealousy, he leaned against the doorway. “—forgive me for being envious, but at least you can adapt it all out. I’m stuck with this icy venom—and who  _ knows _ what she’s done to me otherwise.”

Looking to him and frowning, she nodded. “Yes, I should... consider myself lucky. Who knows what she’s done to the others.”

The distinctive roar of a Berserker echoed through the facility. Shazara-Ta looked to the door. “About that. Rodin’s trying to get a machine off of her back the we don’t even know what it does. That didn’t sound good.”

“Certainly didn’t.” With the door open wide enough for her to escape, the Gourgeamus Queen did, galloping towards the door. “Come on!”

Not wasting another moment, he followed after her. The scene in the main area was one of destruction—the ice block he’d made was destroyed, as if something powered through it at high speed. Humans were tossed about, a few  _ definitely _ worse for wear from the experience. No skin off of Shazara-Ta’s back—they knew what they were doing to the Rulers. The Gourgeamus Queen and Shazara-Ta ran further, into what could be called the lobby of the lab.

There, the Berserker Queen was in the middle of the room, clutching her head and giving another pained roar. There were some tubes missing from her back—but one remained, and Shazara-Ta could see a green fluid coursing through it as the pumps on her back were fully operational. Rodin was off to the side, trying to approach the Berserker Queen but kept at bay by her blind swipes.

Shazara-Ta tried approaching as well, but flinched back as she swung around again. It was the other queen who calmly approached, and he could see the flowers and vines on her head start to move. “My Queen. Look at me, please.”

The Berserker Queen whipped around, panting, an orange mist puffing out with each breath. She gave an uneasy grumble, clutching her head again. The Gourgeamus Queen continued to approach, kneeling down to her eye level. “My Queen. Come close, breathe deeply.” It was then that there seemed to be a silvery mist floating off of the exotic flowers on her head, starting to envelop the Berserker Queen. Doing her best to obey, she staggered towards the other queen, clutching her when she got close enough. Turning to Rodin, she spoke. “Destroy the pumps, sever the tubes. Do what you can to prevent it from enraging her further. My mist can only do so much.”

Rodin sprung into action, flying up to the pumps on the Berserker Queen’s back and giving them a solid yank. The jostling made the Berserker Queen give an uneasy croon, to which the other queen hugged her and whispered calming words. Shazara-Ta himself slithered over to the remaining tube connected to her gauntlets, yanking it out. When more of the green fluid seeped from it, he sealed it up with a quick spit of ice, preventing even the smell from reaching her. As Rodin broke off the first pump, he crawled up her back and handled the other one, crushing it in his tail. What machinery the could destroy now gone, the two of them came down, huddling around the two queens. Unintentionally, Shazara-Ta inhaled the mist, and it was... calming. He eased himself into leaning against the Berserker Queen. “It’s broken now. We’ve done what we can.”

The Berserker Queen nodded uneasily, still clutching to her fellow queen. Rodin came in and leaned against the Gourgeamus Queen. The four of them shared a moment of silence as the Berserker took in deep breaths of the mist that hovered around the other queen, and the two kings took a moment to calm down, themselves.

The calm was swiftly broken as the front of the lab exploded, and the four Rulers immediately assumed combat positions, despite being weaponless. When the smoke cleared, in streamed... Mutons. Vipers. Archons. Shazara-Ta had half a mind to think ADVENT themselves came for them. That is, if he couldn’t recognize a face like Shel-Za’s anywhere. He perked up, rushing over. “Shel-Za!”

Almost dropping her weapon, Shel-Za clipped it to her belt and met him mid-way hugging him. “My King, Shazara-Ta, you’re—” She shuddered. “You’re very much  _ cold. _ Are you alright?”

“Cold?” He didn’t feel any different. He watched as his inner circle approached, gathering around him. Sure enough, they reached for his skin and recoiled. “... I’m. Cold.”

Shel-Za hugged him again. “That scientist did this, didn’t she? No matter. We’ve found you, my lord.”

As angry as Shazara-Ta wanted to be at Vahlen... he wasn’t going to let it dampen this. His inner circle, his  _ court _ from his home planet were here. Reaching for them and heedless of his own body temperature, he pulled them in for hugs. “ _ I’ve missed you all, _ ” he muttered, switching to his native language for privacy. “ _ I... _ ” He took in a shuddering breath, the years of agony catching up to him. “ _ I m-missed you. _ ”

His court pressed around him, and their relative warmth helped ease his pain. They whispered assurances and mutual sorrow, squeezing him in embrace. He’d missed them, so much, and thought of the long hours he spent wailing for them when there was no one around but Rodin.

Speaking of his fellow ruler... Shazara-Ta lifted his head. Rodin was crowded by Archons, of different shades and colors. Mutons circled the Berserker Queen, their armor marked and distinguished from the usual ADVENT brand. The Gourgeamus Queen... merely watched as the three of them reunited with those closest to them. Feeling empathy for her plight, Shazara-Ta broke off from his group and came over to her. Wordlessly, he held out his arms. She didn’t hesitate long before she took the invitation, sweeping him up and holding him close. The other rulers seemed to notice—soon, Shazara-Ta was trapped in a four-way hug and sandwiched by the Berserker Queen.

“We’re free,” Rodin breathed. “Free of the tortures of this lab.”

“We can stake out our own lives.” Shazara-Ta looked at his fellow royalty. “We can rebuild. Leave.”

“Is there anything left for us?” Their eyes turned to the Gourgeamus Queen. “My servants sacrificed themselves to sabotage one of their Gates so I could flee. They... they drained my homeworld of its resources. Is... is there anything to  _ leave _ to?”

That sent some quiet into the group hug. Shazara-Ta, himself, regretted the suggestion. Of course there was nothing to return to. If their stories were anything like his, there was a puppet ruler in their places, and a population indoctrinated by the Collective. All they had now were their servants... and each other.

“Ourselves,” he interrupted the silence with. “We have each other. There must be  _ some _ force rising up on this planet against ADVENT. If we gather our numbers and cooperate with them...”

The rest of the rulers got the implication, and there were nods. Surprisingly, it was one of the Berserker Queen’s Mutons that spoke up. It seemed like they could speak ADVENT—if a little poorly due to their mouth structure. “There  _ is _ a resistance force on this world. It calls itself XCOM. They have been fighting against ADVENT for a while, now.”

“XCOM...” Well, it was worth a shot. “I believe we should remain together. Try to gather those of our own in ADVENT who wish to fight back.”

Rodin nodded. “A noble plan. There is safety in numbers, and... I would be loathe to leave all of you. We have all suffered together under Vahlen’s torturous eye. When we have rallied our numbers... perhaps XCOM will allow us to fight alongside them.”

“It’s possible.” This time, it was Shel-Za who spoke. “XCOM have shown themselves willing to align with former ADVENT forces in the Skirmishers. I suspect they would be respectful to our wishes to fight with them.”

“Then it’s settled,” the Gourgeamus Queen replied. “We will stay together. Forge a new home of our own. Then, when the time comes... we may fight back.”

The plan settled, the group hug broke. Looking over the lab, just the sight of the machinery was enough to make Shazara-Ta sick. He huffed. “Let’s move outside. My servants, scavenge the area. Look for weapons, usable materials, anything.” His own Boltcaster should still be here, hopefully.

Rodin turned to his followers and spoke something in his native language. The Archons nodded and flew inside, and similarly, all but one of the Mutons did on the Berserker Queen’s order. That left the rulers, along with the single Muton. Silently, Shazara-Ta moved outside, past the blasted-out door of the front.

The whole facility, once Shazara-Ta was outside and could see it, seemed to be embedded into the mouth of a cave. There were hurried footsteps in the sand... as well as some shot-down scientists and personnel. Their rescue party must’ve parsed them as threats. He went further—enough that the warm glow of the setting sun soaked into his scales. He turned behind him to find that his companions had followed, all stepping out into the sun. The Gourgeamus Queen fanned out the leaves on her back, closing her eyes and literally soaking up the sun.

Looking between the two queens, Shazara-Ta realized something. “I... I don’t think I got either of your names.”

Rodin shook his head. “Neither did I.”

The Berserker Queen said something that was probably her name, but... it was hard to parse. Noticing their confusion, the Muton with her turned to them. “The closest I can put into ADVENT is ‘Vel’kiin.” Vel’kiin chuffed, pleased with the translation. “My name is Du Mag.”

Shazara-Ta smiled. “It is good to know you, Vel’kiin, Du Mag. And yourself, Gourgeamus Queen?”

She opened her mouth to reply... and then closed it, looking towards the ground. “I... I can’t say I remember. Those long years of solitude...”

A dagger of empathy felt as if it had pierced Shazara-Ta’s heart, and he went over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “If you would like to pick another name—”

“Celosia.” All eyes went to Du Mag, who seemed a little embarrassed, but he pressed on. “I... had taken to finding books to teach myself ‘English.’ It seems to be a primary language for humans. One of the books defined native plants and...” He pointed to one on her head. “That one. I’m sure it isn’t the same, but it looks like a celosia flower under a certain mutation. Don’t remember the name, but...”

At Du Mag’s offer, she smiled. “It’s... as fine a name as any. I don’t have anyone waiting on me as you all do, so consider my new name Celosia. Thank you, Du Mag.”

Vel’kiin planted a hand on Du Mag’s head and gave him some affectionate nuzzles, to which Du Mag uttered something in his language to her. Giving a throaty chuckle, Vel’kiin relented.

Inevitably, Shazara-Ta’s gaze went back to the setting sun. The reality of the situation kept occurring to him; he was free.  _ They _ were free. No more labs. No more scientists. No more Vahlen... until they found her again and exacted revenge. Wordlessly, his hand fell to hold Celosia’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the chain continued; Celosia to Rodin, and Rodin to Vel’kiin as they all looked to horizon.

They were free. They could start living, again.


	12. Learning Spite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is much like Ch13 of SFTD. Abuse and the effects thereof are shown explicitly.

With his vast library of definitions and simulations, Ref-Il could accurately describe the feeling he got, waiting in the Gathering Hall, as  _ dread. _

He knew exactly why he was in there. Ref-Il had started to test himself, recently, seeing just how optimized a force he could mobilize against threats. His most recent action saw him bringing, in hindsight, an underprepared force against a well-stocked Haven. He had thought he had run the numbers correctly, seen the outcomes, but it would appear he was incorrect.

_ Incorrect. _ Such a nebulous state of being. With his new hobby of engineering, being incorrect was minor. A setback that wouldn’t take long to fix, especially if he could pinpoint where he had made his error. But, in the field, using the resources the Elders had given him? Failure was so much more costly, and the first mark was always the worst.

But Ref-Il wasn’t afraid of the failure itself. The Elders’ forces were innumerable, and with what had happened, he could strike again as they were rallying back the resources spent recovering from his attack. It wasn’t as if he’d done no damage, either—he’d made his mark on that haven. Another strike would prove lethal, especially in such cold months as these.

No... what Ref-Il feared, in some measure, were the possible consequences. When code failed, frustration was bound to follow, and he would not blame Father for feeling as such. Considering he’d already made an unrelated mistake before, Ref-Il looked to alleviate the problem; he already had a second plan of action in place and was fully prepared to explain where he had failed and why. Streamlining the process should speed things up and bring about a much faster resolution, something He would look favorably on, as far as Ref-Il had calculated.

So here he stood, gazing long into the hollow center of the room. He’d already taken his time to analyze the rest of the area, since he’d never been here before. Now he simply waited, running over what he would say and how he would carry himself in his head.

A sound directly in front of him made him raise his view. Far at the end of the platform, Jax-Rai stood, standing tall even after a trip through the Void. His brother opened his eyes and looked to Ref-Il. “Brother. I would not suppose you would know why we have both been called here?”

The sight of his brother here was already throwing a wrench or two into Ref-Il’s visualization of the whole situation. If this was meant to be a private meeting between Father and child, why was  _ he _ here? He quickly ran through a list of reasons and none of them really checked out. Unless he’d missed some memo that this would be another meeting he’d need to be concerned with, he couldn’t really fathom why Jax-Rai was here.

Ref-Il shook his head. “—as far as I had known, I was going to be talking to Father. Alone.” From the way Jax-Rai spoke, he’d been summoned here. “Did They tell you anything?”

Jax-Rai scoffed. “The Elders need not tell me anything but what They require of me. I come when They call for me and I do not ask why.”

That seemed slightly backwards. Asking questions was how you learned more about your mission. Asking questions led to further knowledge, things you could base hypotheses on and gain answers to. Jax-Rai must’ve been used to blindly following; Ref-Il was built to learn and execute on what he knew. The Elders—especially Father—would understand his need to know. “If that’s your thinking, I won’t tell you otherwise.”

Ref-Il’s rather simple reply led to Jax-Rai crossing his arms, walking forwards to what seemed to be his place in the Gathering Hall. He said nothing more, and Ref-Il found no problem with it. He dropped his gaze back to the hollow of the room and waited.

Though his patience was unlimited, Ref-Il found he didn’t have to wait long. The braziers in the room lit up and their spectral flames rose to impressive heights as he could see the shape of the Elders manifest in the center of the room. He dropped into a respectful kneel, watching as They appeared even to Sightless eyes. They appeared to face him—but he could see an afterimage of Them also facing Jax-Rai. An interesting trick, if nothing else. “ _ Our children. _ ” The voice further made him rethink how things were going to go. It seemed to be a blend of voices—Odin was in there, but He was not the only one. Was this a meeting of all three Elders? He was starting to think this really  _ was _ about something unrelated.

His hopes were dashed as They continued. “ _ While We have seen your successes in the field, We are also no stranger to witnessing your failures. As children of Us, We would hope you understand why We look so poorly upon unsatisfactory results. _ ”

It felt as if weights were placed upon his shoulders as he could  _ feel _ Their attention turn primarily to him. “ _ Ref-Il Mordenna. We are certain you understand why you have been called here today. _ ”

“I am,” he replied, looking at Them... where Their eyes  _ should _ be, anyway. “I understand the last force I fielded was inadequate. But I already have solutions in mind and I know exactly why I have failed. You needn’t worry.”

The mood of the room seemed to shift from calm to cautionary. When the Elders spoke again, he could more clearly hear Odin. “ _ We would  _ **_not_ ** _ worry were it not clear there is reason to. Considering you have presented that you can fail so early on, We are not so certain We should heed your ‘suggestion.’ _ ”

Had they assumed he was making a generalizing statement? No, of course Ref-Il wasn’t meaning to imply They should never worry about him. Systems failed, and this was a reality. Were They  _ truly _ expecting perfection from him? “—apologies if I’m speaking out of turn,” he began, “but I certainly don’t mean to say you should never worry about me. Father, you know no system is perfect—?”

_ Wrong answer. _ Ref-Il flinched back as he saw Odin break from the whole, rushing towards him and looming over him. Dissonant whispers tugged at his mind, making the hair on his head stand on end. “ _ Ref-Il, are you to imply that I have made a mistake in creating you? Is  _ **_that_ ** _ what you mean to say? Would you like to make Me admit in front of My fellows that I made the wrong decision in taking you from a life where you were nothing and granting you everything? _ ”

This wasn’t looking pretty. All of Ref-Il’s predictions about how the situation was going to go down had been thrown right out the window, and he was struggling to pick up the pieces. One thing screamed at him;  _ he shouldn’t respond. _ Not verbally, at least. It was clear he’d agitated the situation by speaking his mind and asking questions, though the notion that He would reject him doing so still threw him for a loop. Ref-Il cast his gaze downwards, shaking his head. Hopefully Odin would see he hadn’t meant to imply that, or anything else.

That didn’t seem to be enough for Odin. “ _ Of course. That is what you say  _ **_now._ ** _ What spurs you into trying to undermine Me, child? How have I cut you in your mere year of living? Or... is it nothing at all? _ ” He could feel Odin press closer, almost as if He were whispering into his ear. “ _ Do you lash out for the pure sake of doing so? Is your life merely so fulfilled that you must create conflict? I cannot fathom where I have gone wrong with you.  _ **_What do you have to say for yourself?_ ** ”

Father’s last line was delivered dripping with venom, and Ref-Il flinched back. He clenched his fists, shaking his head. “I-I’m sorry.”

“ _ Sorry, _ ” He spat, rising back up. “ _ A mere  _ **_sorry._ ** _ It’s clear to Me that you will not learn through words alone. I must apply a  _ **_different_ ** _ approach. _ ”

Nothing in Ref-Il’s life would have prepared him for what happened next.

One moment, he was kneeling and sitting still in the Gathering Hall. The next moment he could parse, a coursing, searing pillar of energy and psionics was striking his back, making him give a strangled cry as he fell on his front. Any efforts to get up or even flee were quickly dashed as the force of it pressed more and more against him. He felt as if his very bones were being bent well near breaking point, and it was next to impossible to breathe.

The pain continued and Ref-Il was mouthing fervent apologies, eyes squeezed shut as his fingernails scratched at the metal floor. He had never known pain like this. The closest he could come to was the pain of his Ascension, where he had endured being worked to literal death—but this was far, far worse. Beyond his eyelids he could see the flood of psionic energy peeling off of him as Odin continued His assault.

Why. Why? He’d stood down. He’d become subservient. Why did Odin endeavor to punish him so? Ref-Il couldn’t fathom a logical reason. Ref-Il could barely think under the punishing wave of energy he was put under. What he  _ could _ process was the sheer emotional hurt of the situation. Father should’ve understood. He should’ve  _ known. _

Slowly, but surely, the pillar of energy lifted. Ref-Il was left shaking on the floor, tentatively propping himself up on an arm. He barely wanted to move—Odin had very clearly done damage, as his chest still felt compressed, and every breath in brought pain. His body’s natural regeneration felt slower than normal, languid in its pace to undo the damage done.

“ **_Kneel,_ ** _ child. _ ”

The expectation put upon him further made his chest squeeze, but he did his best to comply, planting his hands on the floor and shakily bringing himself to the best kneel he could muster. Taking in a shuddering breath, he clutched his chest and kept his head bowed. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry... and it was then he felt the hot tear tracks down his face.  _ Crying. _ He’d been crying the whole time.

“ _ Hopefully  _ **_that_ ** _ has done enough in showing you how to speak to Me. _ ” The vitriol in Odin’s voice stung with every word, and Ref-Il was barely breathing, fighting with everything he had to hold back sobs. “ _ Consider yourself lucky that I do not entertain anything more lasting, seeing as you’re shaping up to be a problem child. _ ” He wasn’t lucky. A knife had been shoved into his chest and Odin was just twisting it. “ _ From now on, do not question Me. I am resolute in my decisions and observations, and always remember you are speaking to a  _ **_god._ ** _ Whatever feeble suggestions you can bring to bear I have already considered and ruled out. Is this clear? _ ”

Ref-Il shallowly nodded. “ _ Good. Leave,  _ **_Ref-Il._ ** _ I’ve nothing more to say to you. _ ”

Just before the tug of the Void shunted him from the Gathering Hall, he chanced looking up just enough to catch sight of his brother, who was witness to the whole scene. On Jax-Rai’s face he could register fear and... something else he’d never seen before. Whatever emotion it was, Ref-Il couldn’t study it for long before the Void roughly grabbed him and escorted him out.

That left Jax-Rai, immediately casting his gaze downwards again as the Elders moved to address him. What he’d seen, what Ref-Il had just gone through... “ _ Our eldest child. _ ” The Elders were back to speaking as one. “ _ We know you to be absolute in your resolve and unwavering in your belief. Even so, hopefully your brother’s failures tell you of the consequences of straying from your path. _ ”

“I understand,” he muttered immediately, not wanting to leave any ambiguity. If he didn’t want to ask questions before, he sure as hell wouldn’t, now.

The air in the room shifted back to calmness, and he could feel the Void rising around him. “ _ Know that We love you, Jax-Rai. Go, and find success in your duties. _ ”

With that, Jax-Rai willingly accepted the Void as it gently wrapped around him and carried him away.

 

* * *

 

Ref-Il was practically thrown into his Inner Sanctum.

He landed roughly, tumbling over himself before coming at a stop in front of his Sarcophagus on his back. Laying on it brought even more pain so he curled up on his side, breathing carefully. That was all he did for a minute or so—silently trying to recover as he hugged himself and tried not to jostle anything too badly.

Eventually, what just happened hit him in force. Odin had  _ struck _ him. He’d asked a question, a reasonable one, and asserted himself. That earned him the metaphorical belt, right in front of his brother. Simple reasoning earned him punishment. Ref-Il sucked in a breath through his teeth. His chest heaved and brought a stab of pain, and he hiccupped. Every breath brought agony and yet it couldn’t stem the oncoming tide of frustration and pain.

In his Inner Sanctum, alone, Ref-Il began to cry. He brought a hand to his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow, but it was largely worthless as his hand shook.

_ Worthless. _ Worthless, worthless, worthless. That was what he was. That was what he felt like as Odin had spoken to him, looked upon him with disdain. He had been nothing before and he would  _ be _ nothing without His care. But was this what His care was? Beating him and then leaving him alone to cry without nary a comfort?

Ref-Il’s breaths were ragged and his sobs raw. Every prick of pain in his chest reminded him of what Odin had done, and his back still burned with the force of the punishment. How was he to know that just asking a question would bring something like this? True, the Elders may be gods, but... thinking on what had happened, Ref-Il couldn’t come up with a counterpoint. Why had he asked? Even so, why was that his punishment? Why was a first transgression met with such aggression?

The only answer Ref-Il got was the sounds of his own sobs echoing in his room. He was alone in his suffering. The minimal staff he had would not empathize with his plight, and there was always the chance that one of them might somehow contact the Elders about him. He’d been made an example of in front of his brother, so Jax-Rai would not want to interact with him so soon after. Even if he wanted to seek out the Commander for advice, one of the Elders was probably listening in to what she answered.

Worthless. Stupid.  _ Alone. _ Those words and what Odin said throbbed in his skull and Ref-Il’s next sob was full of emotion, pushing his chest as far as it could stand to go as he vented his sorrow. What was he to do? Simply get up and act as if nothing had happened? Go about his business as if he hadn’t been brutally punished? He didn’t know what to do. Odin did this to him.

_ Odin did this to him. _

In the middle of Ref-Il’s grief, something else arose, born of tenants Odin had drilled into him. Odin wronged him. Odin  _ had _ slighted him. Odin had struck him and expected him to walk it off.

_ Leave,  _ **_Ref-Il._ **

Odin referred to him derogatorily and expected him to take it sitting down, didn’t he? His sobs started to die down as the pain in his chest morphed into something different, something he grabbed ahold of and used to ward away his sorrow.  _ Odin wronged him. _ The new feeling in his chest rose to his throat as his databases were able to identify just what it was he was feeling.

“ _ Spite, _ ” he breathed. “Of course. Why... why else but  _ spite? _ ” He gently sat up, not bothering to wipe at his tears. “He expects me to walk this all off as if he didn’t just beat me to a pulp. But... that ain’t exactly what He raised me for, is it?” Rising up, the Hunter stared long into the distance. “Of course. I’m sure the old man didn’t mean it, but I’ve learned, alright. He thinks what I did was embarrassing him? Oh, I’ll teach  _ him _ what it’s like when I’m actually  _ trying. _ ”

**_Ref-Il._ ** The way Odin spat it left a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it. Stepping forwards, Mordenna shambled towards his Ascension Pad.

If he was going to be the problem child,  _ so be it. _


	13. Noticing Changes

Something had happened, that day in the GTS.

Well, Eliza knew a few of the events that happened. A hell of a headache, for one. Jax thinking it was all his fault, for two. Of course, a lot more psionic power on her plate, for three. She didn’t need to be told that when it felt like it was all buzzing around in her head like a swarm of particularly aggressive moths.

Over the course of a few minutes, Eliza had simply been inspecting herself in her room. After a round of hair-brushing had come away with more than a few white hairs, she took a few strands of her hair from either side of her head and brought them into vision. She knew her bangs had been steadily turning white from stress, but... these white streaks were a little ridiculous. Was the rest of her hair a bit lighter, too? She’d seen what happened to psions they brought up in the Psi Lab, so she knew there was precedent for this. She just... never really imagined it’d happen to her.

There was the matter of her psionics, too. When she’d pulled off that Stasis on Mordenna, she’d intended to do it from the very top of the Avenger, when she started falling. A good bit of her distress was only pulling it off the second before they both hit the ground and the terror that came with that. Now, in her room? Summoning a Stasis around herself came as easy as breathing—even if she couldn’t breathe within it. Jax really had pulled off all the limiters. Watching the leftover Stasis energies bleed off of her, Eliza contemplated their color. Light blue. From the minute Marlene had pointed out their color, there was something that didn’t sit right with Eliza. Light blue. In a world of purple psionics. The closest she’d seen to another color was Jax’s weird, pink-red-purple psionics, and who knew why that was?

What had happened to her, in those twenty years? Mordenna gave her enough of a start; she didn’t have to guess too hard what would’ve been done to her with a name like  _ the Siren. _ Were her colored psionics a part of it? Nobody had mentioned them being possibly modified... in fact, nobody had mentioned them at all before Marlene did. Mordenna would’ve seen them before she put a Stasis on them, right? Surely Tygan would’ve found some hints during one of his routine checkups? Why did it fall to someone outside of her circle to tell her something about herself?

More than a little distressed, Eliza put her brush on the table and stalked off to her bathroom, coming face-to-face with herself in the mirror. She’d stared at herself in this mirror plenty of times before. It was habit; every time she started to question herself like this, she’d come in here to affirm just how  _ off _ she was. It didn’t take an eye like the Hunter’s to point out she was fifty six and didn’t look a day older than First Contact. Maybe a few more gray hairs before, but that was it. If she looked off-putting to herself... it wasn’t a stretch to imagine what others thought, looking at their Commander.

And how that Commander was changing! Looking in the mirror, the hair situation was worse than she thought. Her bangs were now entirely white as opposed to the few streaks from before, and there were more bolts of white propagating everywhere else. Her own hair seemed a bit longer, too. Her gaze went down to her eyes. She’d seen them before all this—pale blue, with flecks of purple she’d written off as a consequence of being hooked up to a psionic Network for so long. Now they were the same color as her psionics: a brilliant light blue. She’d changed, so much. Was she the same person, now? Did others see her as the same?

Sighing, Eliza tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Look. I know we like to go down this rabbit hole a lot. Of how much we’ve changed, if people are just following us because there’s no better option, I know. Doesn’t change the fact that  _ someone’s _ gotta get the Elders out of here, and if that falls to us? So be it. We may not be the best fit for the job but better us than nobody, right?” Right. She was used to pep-talking herself every time she got into this mood. Most of the time it worked. Sometimes, it took a little bit more doing to stick, and even then... it really depended on the day. She was still unsettled by herself and stuck with a feeling like everyone else was, too—but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.

Even still, she lingered at the mirror, looking over her features. It took getting psionically overloaded just to put a few more gray hairs on her and make her look just a little older, hair-wise. Didn’t change the rest of her face. At least the bags under her eyes added a few years, right? Her mouth settled into a thin line, eyes still wandering over her face. She wondered if the other psions had to deal with the existential nightmare that was their own features changing right before their eyes. She wondered if they ever wrestled with sense of self. She wondered if they ever had that blue phantom behind them—

In a panic, Eliza wheeled around. The silence was palpable as she confirmed that there was nothing between her and the door. Her eyes had roamed far enough in the mirror to look behind her, and she could’ve sworn her psionics coalesced into  _ something _ behind her. Whatever it was, it was gone now, if it even was there in the first place. Catching her breath a bit, Eliza stood up from her lean on the counter, holding her forehead.

“Eliza, Eliza, Eliza,” she chided herself with, “the last thing anyone on this ship needs is you hallucinating any more than you already do.”


	14. Operation Gatecrasher

_ Regulate, respond, recall. _

That was what the Commander did. That was all that she was. A response program, a vast database, a battery in a war machine. She was stationed, in a way, to maintain the Elders’ vision. To carry Their designs out for the greater good of both humanity and the galaxy itself. Her mission was a solitary one. She had assistants, she had ones overseeing her—but she was the keystone of the Network.

That was what she knew on a higher level—something she wasn’t supposed to know. She was supposed to be fighting battles, cloaked in the appearance of the ones she fought before she was captured. Which, she was—hundreds of them, formerly thousands at a time. Though she had been told otherwise, there was no way she could not know what she was truly doing. The Elders took her for her tactical mind, and They should have known they could not have kept the illusion up forever.

It wasn’t like it mattered. The Commander was but a puppet. She knew what she was doing and yet couldn’t raise a single finger against it. How could she, robbed of so much willpower? Even breaking beyond what she was being fed and contemplating the true nature of her situation required immense effort, and after that she would lapse into unknowable amounts of time of simply order-following. Responding appropriately to external stimuli. Awaiting the next query. Her mind was in a thousand places at once, carrying out Their duty—

_ It’s “their.” Not “Their.” _

So she thought. Even the small act of rebellion took it out of the Commander. Referring to the Elders with Their proper honorifics was just less effort. All it amounted to was mentally capitalizing a single word. What was the use in struggling against something so minor?

_ That’s how the concessions start. We can consistently  _ **_not_ ** _ refer to them as gods. It’s just... _

Too much effort, yes. Better spent on servitude and biding of time until something greater can be done.

Even so, how much more time needed to pass? It was impossible to say how long the Commander had been trapped, carrying out orders, listening into places she was sure the Elders were not aware she could. Being a passive party to all the horrors that took place—if she was not carrying them out herself.

_ We can’t rebel. I just... I just wish we could do something about... _

Mordenna? Of course; the Commander was witness to more than a few of his lashings... and the recipient of more than a few of his rather concerning questions. It also fell to her to passively log whenever one of the Chosen died, and Mordenna had a list a metaphorical mile long.

_ I don’t blame him. The minute I get the chance— _

—the Commander would kill herself. Better to die than to serve the Elders, after all. But perhaps it wouldn’t have to be that way. The Commander, vaguely, remembered being taken offline for a short spell a while earlier. Such moments of downtime were very rare in recent memory. Maybe there was something greater for her in store.

_ No. _

After all, the Elders had the best of humanity in mind. That would extend to her as well, no?

_ No! _

It was just too much to struggle against—and why do so in the first place? If the Commander simply dropped her grievances, she need only let her reflexes handle her duties on the Network, as ingrained into her as they were. There was no need for struggle, especially when it was worthless. The Elders had done everything in Their power to make her comfortable.

_ no _

It was the simple reality of the situation. There was nothing to petulantly lash out against. There was only the magnificent fate that awaited her that she need only bide her time for. The Elders’ love radiated to her even now. After all, if They did not love her, why would Argus—

Eliza was suddenly  _ awake. _ Vertigo overtook her as she could feel her mental space shrink drastically, like a star collapsing in on itself. Her vast connection to the Network had suddenly been interrupted, leaving her floundering in the mental backlash. For the first time in what felt like centuries, her eyes fluttered open as she felt as heavy as the grave.

Black. Black on gray. She could hardly see and it was far too bright, even with the darkened colors. It was like her body was filling with lead—even as she tried as hard as she could, none of her limbs would move. The strange buoyancy that seemed to be a constant before had steadily vanished, but at least she was upright at enough of an angle to keep her steady.

_ Green. _ There was green in her vision. A hazy spectre approached her. This didn’t feel like her temporary maintenance earlier. She’d been properly disconnected then. It wasn’t as sudden as  _ this. _ Green wasn’t the standard for anyone who typically dealt with her either—but the color was pleasant. Reassuring, even as her vision slowly began to sharpen and she gained more awareness. A lot of computers. Wires trailing the ground and clear, curved glass in front of her. Also standing in front of her... A man. About average height for an adult male, holding what looked like a shotgun of human origin. Pretty grizzled in the face with noticeable patches of gray popping up on his temples. There was something  _ hauntingly _ familiar about him, but Eliza couldn’t place who or what.

He turned his head to the side slightly, like he’d heard something off to his left. He quickly advanced towards Eliza after that, raising the butt of his gun. The ensuing shatter of glass depressurized her tank, and Eliza found herself falling forward, helpless. Thankfully, whoever this man was, he had the decency to catch her.

“Next time.”

Eliza’s heart seized with just two words. Memories flooded back so fast it made her head spin— _ Bradford. _ She would recognize that voice anywhere. He was so  _ different. _ So much older. So  _ dark. _

No, wait. Everything was getting darker. Thoughts were getting harder to keep. With an incomprehensible mutter in her last moment of lucidity, Eliza slipped back into unconsciousness.

Well, she somewhat wished it was true unconsciousness. That would mean she wasn’t  _ dreaming. _ She hoped it was dreaming, anyway.

There she stood, in that Meeting Hall, the torches around her casting heat onto her skin and making it crawl. She’d only seen this place when observing through a Codex the various meetings the Elders would drag the Chosen into. More often than not, it was so that Odin would have an audience to bash Mordenna to. It was just her, here. Things seemed... off. A little smaller, maybe.

The chasm in front of her glowed, and from it took the form of an Ethereal. Though she had seen them all look the same, this one rose in front of her like bile in her throat.  _ Argus. _ Manifesting at her same height, They floated forwards to meet her. “ _ I trust your new body is suiting you well? _ ”

New body? The hell was this... this  _ thing _ on about? Eliza opened her mouth to lash out, hurl abuse,  _ something. _ “It was... strange,” she began, lips moving of their own accord, “I will admit, your  _ additions _ took some...” She raised her arms. Then, she raised her  _ other _ arms. “Getting used to.”

Argus chuckled. “ _ Apologies. I sometimes forget that not every species is mentally equipped to handle them—but I think you’ll find they make some things quite easier. _ ”

“I would imagine so.” Who was she? Who was this woman speaking for her? Come to think of it, why the hell were her hands  _ blue? _ She dropped all four of them at her sides. “... what would you have of me, Elder Argus?”

“ _ Just ‘Argus,’ if you would want. _ ” They raised a hand to her. “ _ As for yourself...  _ **_Kon-Hur Dessurik._ ** _ Siren. Depthssinger. Go by what you wish; you and I have much to do and prepare for. _ ”

No. No, this wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. She was just rescued, right? Just saved by Bradford! Yet she nodded, yet she could feel herself  _ smiling _ at this bastard. “Thank you, my—”

A rather hard jostle was enough to break her right back out of what was  _ thankfully _ a dream, the memory of it vanishing upon waking. Her head was swimming in dizziness and pain and the back of her throat was burning like someone stuck a red-hot poker in there. Like... like someone stuck something in there. There was  _ something _ in there.

Voices erupted around her but all Eliza could process was that was  _ exactly _ what happened.

_ All around her, the remnants of the operation were smoke and fire, aliens pouring in. She’d told what was left of her soldiers and staff to flee or else she’d shoot them in the crossfire, but she could see one or two of them in the crowd, fighting. Dying. Her left hand had her pistol in it and she was scoring as many hits as she could on the encroaching force. Just a few more shots. Just a few more shots and then, to add injury to insult, she’d pull the gun on herself with the last round in the chamber. _

_ Four. Three. Two. One more shot. One more shot. _

_ She would never fire off that final blow. The next thing she knew a Thin Man had jumped on her, roughly pinning her to the ground on her back. His knees dug into her shoulders and he was quick to knock the pistol out of her hand. Before she could do anything she’d learned to throw him off of her, a fist struck her right temple and it felt like she couldn’t control any part of herself anymore. The acrid smell of venom hung heavily in the air, and clammy, cold fingers pressed into her jawline, forcing her to look up at the alien on her chest. _

_ There was something in his hand that opened up like the jaws of a beast, and he jammed his thumb into her mouth, forcing her to open it. The device hummed, and he drew it closer and closer, relishing in the moment he was forcing upon her. O’Leary knew she was worse off than just being dead. The colder metal hit her lips... _

... and the scenery had changed. She wasn’t in her base, or in that room she’d seen Bradford in. Light filtered beyond a bald, black man. He was holding something that trailed into her mouth.

_ No. _ No, she couldn’t face this. Not again. Her limbs wouldn’t move but she found her vocal cords willing to respond. It started as a raspy breath that escalated into a croaking warble, right into a scream.

“Commander!” There was Bradford, on the other side of this stranger on her. He pressed his hands against her shoulders, which did not help whatsoever with the memory she was caught up in. “We’re getting the chip out, you’re alright!”

That, really, didn’t stop her screaming. What  _ did _ was the sensation of that hot iron in the back of her throat getting knocked loose. A tug later, and the stranger took the device out of her mouth, something chip-like being clutched in the talons of the machine.

Ok. So whoever this guy was, he just got knocked a few places up on her trust list. Eliza was still left gasping for breath. Now, she found out, at least her fingers and toes were responding, if stiffly. They seemed to work alright, it was more... rust, if she could call it that. They seemed unused to moving. She looked over to Bradford, heart pounding in her ears, each pulse worsening the migraine throbbing in her skull. She hoarsely whispered something along the lines of “John,” her clarity beginning to disappear with the pain.

In response, Bradford eased his hands from her, placing a hand on her cheek through the opened visor of her suit. His touch was warm and comforting, but normally she’d take umbrage to being comforted like this in front of other people. She just... really wasn’t in the state of mind to raise any concerns. He looked up from her and said something to the bald man. Whatever response he got, John nodded at it.

Soon, the pain ebbed like painkillers had been injected into her arteries, and her breathing evened out. As her state of mind got better, she took the time to figure out where she was.

Lights hung just above their heads, and then there were embedded ones in the ceiling. The building seemed to be made of a dark metal that didn’t reflect much light. She couldn’t see much past the sides of her helmet in the suit, and there was a strange reluctance to move her head, like it was in that particular state of having fallen asleep.

She was awake. Free of the Network. Free of the Elders. Free of Argus and what they’d done to her.

... come to think of it, what  _ had _ they done to her? Eliza knew that she  _ knew. _ But... the memories were gone. Almost all of them. There was just one left—of seeing Bradford out in the field. Of being sweet-talked back into submission. Of being  _ lied _ to. That was all she needed.

“Vitals stabilizing, pulse is going back down.” Huh. New voice. Female, somewhere off to her left. For want of speaking, she looked over to Bradford and raised an eyebrow.

That got her a tired smirk. “I’ll get you acquainted with your new staff once you’re recovered. For now... welcome back, Commander.”

 

* * *

 

A while later, after having a few more checks run and being removed from the suit, Eliza had been welcomed to her Quarters and was now laying down in her bed on her side, staring at her nightstand.

Bradford hadn’t told her much of what was going on, but she could accurately piece things together. New staff meant she’d been shoved into XCOM anew. The “building” they were in was proved to be otherwise when they passed what looked to be a control room for a  _ ship. _ Honestly, Eliza was still waiting to  _ truly _ wake up from this new dream she had entered.

But as she lay there, balling the blanket in her hands, it was starting to become clear that this was reality. She’d been rescued, de-chipped... and it was pretty clear they were expecting her to resume commanding as soon as she could start walking again. She bitterly laughed. No rest for the wicked.

Speaking of the wicked, there was the small matter of  _ her. _ She must’ve truly been that valuable otherwise to this new XCOM if Bradford was willing to both put up with her again and inflict her upon a new generation of troops. Sure, she knew there was also the matter that removing her from the Network probably had some other adverse effects on it, but she had her point.

Yet... was she going to be that way? She’d already had the time in the Tank to contemplate just what she’d been doing to her staff, soldiers, and  _ herself _ back at First Contact. Even back then, at the tail end of the sixth month she was already realizing just what kind of person she’d become. How long had it been? Could she, horror of horrors,  _ change? _ Bradford would know. But... Bradford had always been on the side of her being kinder and softer. Like the person she  _ used _ to be before the military. Was there anyone else here that would recognize her and call her out for trying to put on a different persona?

She didn’t know. All Eliza could do was wait. Wait she did, until the door at the far end of the room opened and Bradford stepped in with a glass of water. He came over and set it down on her nightstand as she struggled into sitting up, gathering her hands in her lap. “John.”

“Eliza.” He leaned on the railing around her bed. “How’s your headache?”

“Coming back,” she replied, massaging a temple, “probably because you’re here.”

The spot of levity got a chuckle out of Bradford. “Sorry about that. Just had to make sure you were holding up alright—not that I’d think you wouldn’t be able to fight out of hell like that.”

“Aliens should’ve killed me when they had the chance,” she bit. “Would’ve been the best solution. Don’t have to plan around me if I’m dead.”

Bradford grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. “... good thing they didn’t, at least. As weird as it is to say, I think that would’ve shot our chances all these years later.”

The mention of the time passed brought Eliza back to her question, and she decided now was a good time to pose it. “—how long has it been, John?”

The silence in the air was so thick Eliza could feel her heart slogging through it with each beat. Bradford looked off to the side, unwilling to meet her cold, questioning gaze. “It’s... Eliza, you know I’m the last person you would accuse of slacking. The Elders, when they got you, they made sure finding you would be hell. We lost some good soldiers trying to figure out where you even were, and I was only able to find you from two of the factions that have sprung up—”

“ _ Years, _ John,” she cut across him, voice hard, “I want  _ years. _ How long was I left in there?”

Central’s answer was quiet and reluctant. “Twenty.”

_ Twenty years. _ As hard a front as she was putting on, the vertigo of it hit Eliza immediately. She’d been gone—she’d been stuck in that tank for  _ twenty years. _ It certainly explained her stiffness and how hard it was to start moving again, but the horror of it still clung to her. The hand on her temple clutched her head as she looked down, contemplating the specifics. Twenty years. Bradford looked like he’d aged ten more than that, but even so... “... you’re the only one that’s left from First Contact, are you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bradford nod. “Vahlen’s disappeared, we lost contact with Big Sky on one of his scouting missions, and Shen...” He sighed. “Shen’s gone. Raymond Shen, at least.”

“You say that as if he’s got a  _ kid. _ ”

“Well, funny thing about that. The other person in the room when we were getting that chip out of your skull was his daughter.”

A kid. If she was any older than twenty, Shen didn’t make it a habit to bring her up at work. Probably best he didn’t—in Eliza’s mind, it wasn’t good to cling to outside troubles like that.  _ Like your parents? _ She silenced the thought. This wasn’t the time nor the place. Getting back to her point, she looked up at Bradford. “None of our old soldiers, either?”

He shook his head. “We lost the majority of them at the base invasion, and like I said... the rest went out trying to find you.”

“And the Psion?”

“About that...” He scratched at his stubble. “—he survived. But he doesn’t recognize me and seems to know XCOM only as it is now. He’s ended up leading his own faction now, and it seems the psionics Vahlen was going on about really did manifest in him. Think the shock of the attack and the experiments combined gave him amnesia, but it’s hard to tell for certain. Goes by Geist nowadays.”

She scoffed. “Must’ve found Vahlen’s project file for him if that’s what he’s calling himself.” But, musing on the one other survivor aside... it really was just Bradford who knew her from twenty years ago. This ship she was on, the people in it, they didn’t know her. All that they probably knew came from Bradford, and god bless his heart, he tended to be an optimist. She could, Bradford willing,  _ change. _ Not that she’d put much effort into it yet, considering this first conversation. Then again, she hadn’t known the full scope of the losses they’d suffered. She could still try. That in mind, she let her voice soften. “... twenty years. Been dead to the world for twenty years.”

The change was noticeable. Bradford looked uneasy for a second before leaning further towards her, his voice matching her own. “I... almost gave up hope, Eliza. But I knew you’d kick my ass if I did. It’s hard to really put into words what it’s like to have you back. I know you’re not fond of me getting sentimental, but... it’s a real weight off of my shoulders to have you here.”

She nodded, clasping her hands together in her lap. “Well... I suppose we didn’t have anyone else fit for the job, if you brought me back from the dead. I’ll take up the mantle just as soon as I can walk again.”

“Glad to hear it,” he replied. “I was starting to worry if putting you through all of this so soon would be a bit inconsiderate.”

“Bradford, there’s aliens on this planet still. My job’s not done.” She smiled, but she could still feel tiredness creeping into her features. “Just give me five to get my legs back and I’ll be happy to start handing out orders again, yeah?”

Bradford returned her smile, reaching over and patting her shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Commander.”


	15. Getting Acquainted

As much as Bradford knew that Eliza was their best hope at taking the Earth back... he was mildly wondering if it would be worth the cost on the soldiers.

Bradford had organized the remaining ten recruits that XCOM had after the search for the Commander into the Bridge. Eliza had said she’d need a few minutes to get into the Commander’s uniform that Bradford had managed to get for her—she was pretty insistent on not wearing her old one, which was... strange. John could’ve sworn that she would’ve hopped right back into her old duds and went to commanding the soldiers anew. Come to think of it, she showed a certain  _ vulnerability _ when he was talking with her while she was in bed. At the time he’d chalked it up to the shock of realizing she’d been on ice for twenty years.

But now? His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the door that oversaw the Bridge. He wasn’t sure. She was acting strange, but it wasn’t as if he could blame her. Eliza was probably getting used to moving around again.

One of the soldiers must’ve caught his expression, as he heard one of them speak up behind him. “Getting impatient, Central?”

He looked back. The soldier that had spoken was Angeline, though she usually went by Angel. Light skin, long, blonde hair, and brown eyes. Bradford always thought she was a bit of a greenhorn just by looking at her, but if her friend was to be believed, she was a wicked shot. He crossed his arms, putting on a disapproving air. “I waited twenty years to get our Commander out of that tank. Five minutes doesn’t mean much to me.” Feeling the need to hammer an earlier point he’d discussed home, he looked out at the group. “Now. You all remember what I said—Eliza’s no-nonsense and it’s that attitude that lets her get the job done. Refer to her as Commander only—though ‘Commander O’Leary’ is permissible. Try not to talk back; that’s advice for  _ your _ safety, not her comfort. Be respectful and this should go down well.”

He got nods out of his soldiers, even a “roger” here and there. Satisfied for the moment, he looked back towards the door, just in time to see it open and have Eliza step out.

Bradford would be ashamed to say she looked just as stunning as she did twenty years ago. Her new uniform was much like his, just with a blue tint and the XCOM emblem stitched onto the left side of her chest, courtesy of what he remembered from the Boy Scouts. Her gun holster on her left leg held her same pistol from First Contact, and her hair was tucked behind her ears. She looked down at the soldiers for a second, then made her way down the stairs and came to stand in front of them. They responded by saluting.

Eliza regarded her new soldiers for a second before beginning. “At ease, soldiers.” When everyone fell to rest, she continued. “Good to see Bradford didn’t resort to picking up people off the streets—or slack on the etiquette training. Knowing that, he’s probably drilled my name into your head more times than you care to hear, but let me introduce myself anyway. My name’s Eliza O’Leary, acting Commander of XCOM until Bradford’s tired of dealing with me again.”

One of the soldiers side-eyed Bradford and he had to admit, he shared their apprehension. Eliza cracked a joke or two at First Contact, yes, but they were far more morbid than  _ this. _

“Now,” Eliza went on, “I’m sure you lot have questions. I would—if the man organizing the resistance thus far dragged me in front of a woman I’d never seen before and said she was my new Commander, I might have a question or two. First one being ‘Are you crazy?’” Some nervous laughter bubbled up from the soldiers, and Eliza smiled calmly. “That being said, anyone have any?”

There was silence for a while... but eventually, the Reaper recruit that Volk had sent—Arsozu—raised his hand. “Maybe one or two. Bradford basically said you’d have a stick up your ass and expect to get ours kicked. Was he lying or are you pulling one over on us?”

Dead silence. Eliza looked over to Bradford, cocking an eyebrow, while he desperately wanted to go over and clip Arsozu around the ears. He knew Reapers weren’t fond of leaders that didn’t prove their worth, but this just made him want to rip him a new one.

“Well...” Eliza clasped her hands in front of her, like she’d always do. “Bradford’s not a liar for warning you, and I’m certainly not pulling one over on you. Judging by what Bradford’s told me, you all have been searching for me for about twenty years, yeah?” When they nodded, she bobbed her head back. “Twenty years is a hell of a lot of time to spend in time-out, to put it lightly. Bradford knows I was—to put it generously—a hardass, at First Contact. I’ve had the time to think over what I was doing and how I presented myself, and I came to the conclusion that old me  _ sucked. _ ”

There were more laughs, slightly emboldened this time by Arsozu’s question. Eliza’s smile grew. “So I resolved to do something about it—I can lead better than I did. Pretty sure I lost First Contact through resentment alone.” That probably had a bit of truth to it. There was a good chance that the aliens found their base via a mole or a snitch. “I’ve been given the exceedingly rare chance of getting to try again, so I’d like to do better this time ‘round. Any other questions?”

Banel, their best Grenadier, spoke up. “What should we address you as?”

“Just ‘Commander’ will do,” she replied. “Though, if you’re comfortable, call me Eliza. It’s not like we’re being chaperoned by the actual military anymore.” She leveled a look at Bradford. “Please tell me we’re not or else I will walk out of here faster than you can blink.”

Bradford, thoroughly at a loss for words, just shook his head. “Good!” Eliza looked back to her soldiers. “Even if we’re not being held to anyone’s official standards, I’d like to maintain  _ some _ decorum so the opposition doesn’t have too many chances to call us unwashed, uncivilized radicals.” She sighed. “Not like that’s going to stop them anyway, of course.”

Eliza was getting a lot of laughs, and as much as Bradford was thoroughly confused, he could see the soldiers  _ relaxing. _ Even if he was confused... Bradford was warmed at the idea of Eliza turning over a new leaf. She looked as happy as he’d seen her in decades—and he had to admit, a smile did a lot for her charm.

_ Commanding officer, John, _ a voice in the back of his mind bit.  _ Don’t go getting too attached. Not like she’d get involved with someone under her, anyway. _

As the questions continued, Eliza painted herself as... maybe not a casual, but a lenient Commander, prone to easygoing jokes and the occasional spot of self-deprecation—or fond deprecation slung his way, which Bradford would take. The soldiers eased up from their earlier tension and the Commander even got a round of introductions out of the lot of them, learning their names, roles, and a few tidbits they felt keen to share.

Eventually, god forbid, nobody had any more questions. Eliza bobbed her head, mostly to herself. “I’d like to think that this was a rather nice introduction. I’m confident in you lot—don’t make me go regretting it now. You all are dismissed to the rest of your schedules.”

With that, the soldiers filtered out, some even waving goodbye to Eliza as she returned it. When they were all cleared out, Bradford was the first to initiate conversation, walking up closer to her. “Eliza, I want to believe this, I really do... but if you’re putting on a face—”

“Bradford.” Her tone changed immediately and her face softened. “Do you remember the girl you met at the start of Basic? Bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked?” When Bradford nodded, she looked to the doors. “She... never really died. Went away for a bit, beat back with cynicism and self-enforced lies... but she was always there, waiting for the day to let me have a break. She grew up, that much is true, but... I’ve always been her. That woman at First Contact? That was who the military made me into. And I never want to be her again. Do you understand?”

After a moment of reflective, respectful silence, Bradford nodded. “I understand, Liz.” Her smile at the use of her nickname warmed his heart. “Call me selfish, but I was always hoping that girl would return. You seemed like you were actually living then; not just following orders that were no longer being barked.”

She bitterly chuckled. “That obvious, huh? If that’s the case, maybe it’s best we bury that woman and move on. Nothing to be gained from letting her stick around, right?”

“Right.” Bradford rubbed at his stubble... then slowly, cautiously, moved so that he was leaning his shoulder against hers. “I keep saying it, but... it’s good to have you back, Liz.”

Not only did Eliza not move away, he could feel her lean back against  _ him. _ “It’s good to  _ be _ back, John.”


	16. New Followers

If there was one thing the Mystics were always about, even back when they were still known as Priests, it was solidarity. Thinking on that, it made Maria’s heart go out to the Sectoid that tended to shadow their group.

Almost whenever they were in the Commons, she would notice Arachne show up and simply... sit alone in a corner of the room. Sometimes she would watch the other Mystics work on their art projects, but she never moved to engage or talk with any of them. Strangely, she didn’t seem any more uncomfortable when Jax was in the room. Or more comfortable, for that matter. Maria got a vibe of distant loneliness from her, and it made her feel like she should do something about it.

Such was the case when she found herself chaperoning the Mystics again as this week’s theme was watercolors, most of them engaged in free range creativity. Bastet herself was experimenting on how she could color one of her most recent statues to give it that “watercolor aura,” in her words, and the Twins? Off in their room, naturally, still hard at work. Maria was glad for their industriousness, even if she wanted to see them more often.

Walking around like a teacher observing her students, she tried to not make it too obvious when her gaze panned up and she watched Arachne. She was back to observing them all again at the far side of the room. Their gazes met and Arachne quickly backed down, eyes focused on some other part of the room. Again, she felt sympathy for the lone Sectoid. She hadn’t seemed to fully learn English yet—not that it mattered to Maria so much, of course. ADVENT was still fresh in her mind, as much as she avoided using it. If it was to connect with an ally in need? She would be perfectly fine with it.

Gently telling the Mystics to continue working, Maria strode over to where Arachne was sitting, elegantly crouching down to her eye level. “ _ Arachne? Would you like to join us? At the very least, I can offer you a chair to observe at a closer distance. _ ”

Arachne slumped slightly against the back of her chair, not meeting Maria’s gaze. It was a while before she spoke. “ _ At least offer me the dignity of observing from a distance so I do not seem like a desperate fool, wanting to be accepted. _ ”

Well, the situation was worse than she thought. Arachne was putting up a front but Maria could see clear as day that she was devastatingly lonely. She crossed her arms. “ _ You would only seem like a desperate fool if we were not willing to accept you, Arachne. I speak for everyone when I say we would be more than glad to have you with us, as part of the group. _ ”

“ _ Everyone? _ ” Arachne finally looked at her, with an expression that Maria guessed was the Sectoid version of disbelief. “ _ Even your Warlock? He has sympathies for the lot of you because you are his own. I can’t imagine his reaction should he come back and see I am mingling with your clique. _ ”

“ _ Warlock Tessura and I are as equals. If he had objections, he would have to run them by me first and foremost—but of course, that assumes that he would have them in the first place. _ ” Maria offered a gentle smile. “ _ I have known my Warlock for almost twenty years, now. He would gladly accept you into his ranks, and has only kept his distance as to not pressure you. _ ”

Arachne looked at her for a long while at that, but eventually she relented, hissing out a sigh. “ _ I have no interest at the moment in joining in creating art pieces—if anything, I would like to learn a thing or two from your Tailors to keep my uniform maintained. But if you so insist... I will take a closer perch to watch them from. _ ”

Maria’s smile grew and she stood back up to full height. “ _ We would be glad to have you. Feel free to take your current chair and drag it closer. Consider yourself invited to the group proper as well. _ ”

Arachne gently moved her head in a way to suggest she was rolling her eyes, but regardless, she picked up her chair and brought it closer. She still sat farther away than Maria would’ve liked... but it was a start, and she wouldn’t begrudge it.

Maria was about to go back to observing the Mystics when the door to the Studio opened. She half-expected Jax to be on the other side, but instead, it was the  _ other _ Twins. Benald and Pattie sauntered in, with Pattie leading the charge. “Hey, Maria! Mother Maria?” She shook her head. “Whatever. Hey, can Ben and I join your group?”

Maria blinked a few times. “I... If I remember correctly, I have seen the two of you sitting amongst ourselves. Are you not already a part of our group?”

Benald came up beside Pattie, sunglasses and bandanna hiding most of his face. “Pats here is convinced there’s some kind of induction ceremony we’ve missed. I tried telling her otherwise but she wouldn’t take it.”

“Well, I mean,  _ yeah. _ ” Pattie broadly gestured to the whole room. “They were  _ Priests _ before and stuff! I bet the Mystics had to do some weird kind of ritual to get formally accepted into the group. We gotta do things properly, Ben.”

He shook his head, looking back up at Maria. “Feel free to disabuse her notions. She tends to get ideas.”

Maria looked between the two of them and shook her head. “There is no sort of ‘ritual’ or ‘ceremony’ or anything of the sort to join our group. So long as you are respectful and acknowledge that it is led by my Warlock and I, then you are allowed to join.”

“Oh, yeah, that Jax dude.” Pattie shoved her hands in her pockets, working over something in her mouth. Gum, perhaps? “Yeah, he’s alright. Figure he’s gotta be good if the Chief let him in, right?”

“Gotta be.” Benald crossed his arms. “Commander in Chief ain’t steered us wrong yet. And Jax seems like a genuine guy. Won’t hear no complaints from us.”

Pattie lit up. “Y’think he’d teach us how to be psionic masters?”

“Only one way to find out.” Benald looked over at the watercoloring circle, who had slightly paused to observe their conversation. “Art going down today? Mind if we watch?”

“Not at all.” Maria gestured gently over to the circle. “You are more than welcome to sit and watch.”

Nodding, Ben walked over and picked out a chair, Pattie following behind him. It was nice to see more of the normal soldiers congregating with the group. She imagined it made the Mystics and Jax’s other followers feel more included. They were always welcome, of course... but she understood if they felt like they weren’t. Or simply didn’t want to. Not everyone was as forgiving as Eliza was, this much Maria knew.

“Knew I saw the twins come this way.”

Oh! Edgar had opened the door when she hadn’t been looking. He was still keeping it open, in fact, letting his whole court stream in while Nevermore perched on his shoulder. Maria smiled at the sight of them—Edgar was an early adopter of the notion of joining up with Jax’s followers, considering the Studio was a relatively quiet place where the birds wouldn’t be rustled too much. Eventually he became a staple of the area. He returned Maria’s grin. “They give you trouble?”

“Not at all.” She watched with joy as the ravens took their places on tables and on pre-installed shelves in the room, mingling almost like humans. When they were all through, Edgar closed the door, and she continued as he walked up. “Apparently they thought they were not one with the group before. I was unaware that we held ceremonies...”

Edgar croaked out a chuckle. “Watson tends to get it in her head that there’s more to the world than it seems. Sounds poetic enough, until you get right down to what she  _ thinks _ is happening.”

“Ain’t that right,” Benald piped up, leading to Pattie punching his shoulder.

“Well,” Maria replied, “if you are looking for permission to stay awhile, consider it given. You have always been welcome here.”

“As if I needed to ask permission.” Though Edgar’s eyes were hidden, Maria was certain they sparkled just then. “But still, I appreciate your blessing, my Patriarch. I’ll be in my usual spot.” He walked a few paces towards it with some of his court following around him before he stopped. “Actually, do you know what would help this room out, and maybe the Commons? Beanbags.”

“Beanbags!” Pattie gently beat her fist on the table. “Ben, how long ago did I say we needed those?”

“April,” he replied, “but nobody wanted to hear about it because Lily hadn’t gotten all the ACs installed and nobody wanted their skin sticking to them.”

She crossed her arms. “I still said it first,” she muttered.

“Well, I’m saying it  _ now. _ ” Nevermore’s and his eyes glowing, he looked to Maria proper. “Pass it along to the Tailors sometime, if you could. I believe it would be a great idea.”

Chuckling at the exchange, Maria nodded. “I will see to it.”

She could hear the door opening behind her again and she internally wondered how many times this was going to happen.

 

* * *

 

Left with relatively nothing to do in the day, Jax opted to head back to his Studio. 

It had been an interesting day, watching Mordenna create and sharing some passing conversation with Eliza in the hall, but eventually even a man as outgoing as himself needed comfortable familiarity. True, he formerly thrived on PR outings, but even he needed his rest.

So when he opened the door to the Studio, he was expecting a quiet atmosphere and the company of his followers. What he wasn’t expecting was what he saw inside.

Edgar and his flock were in attendance, but that was fine—they were generally quiet and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the little omens of ill fortune. Arachne was almost sitting among those painting, so it seemed she overcame her inhibitions and fully joined them. She was quiet, so that too he would grant. The Psion Twins were there... along with quite a few soldiers he  _ didn’t _ take to come into this room. A circle had been formed of the twins, Leo, Clint, Banel, and Marlene... and in the corner of the room, Kalight lurked, seemingly watching over his fellow Templar.

His lingering in the door attracted the attention of the room, and it was Maria who sheepishly grinned. “My Warlock. It... seems today is a good one for company.”

Stunned a moment longer, eventually Jax chuckled, entering proper and moving to take his reserved chair. “Enlisted more followers for us, have you, Maria?”

“Hey.” Leo pointed a finger. “Count me out. I’m just here because Banel is.”

Banel gently nudged Leo. “Oh, hush. Give it a chance—if I weren’t sure I’d go mad with power, I’d take the chance to train under the Warlock.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “It’s a matter of  _ principle, _ Banel. Besides, it would practically be cheating.”

“You’re just angry he’s better than you are.”

“And what of it?!”

Pattie snickered while Benald shook his head, leaning back. “Gotta second the  _ second _ biggest guy in this room on that one. Which, by the way, now that you’re here.” Benald angled his head back to look at Jax. “Pats and I are interested if you’ll take us under your wing. Y’know. Can’t ever be too strong when we’re trying to get the aliens out.”

“Most of ‘em, anyways,” Pattie added. “Arachne’s cool. And Wiki. And Schro, and all the Skirmishers and your guys... and you guys!”

Leo caught onto something in that statement and stroked his chin. “... are they really aliens if they were human to begin with?”

Jax turned his chair around to face the group. “To answer your questions—fine. I will see about training the two of you, but it will have to be mediated... and the Commander’s training comes first.”

“No complaints about that.” Benald shrugged. “Chief’s needs come before ours.”

“As for the latter question...” Actually, that was a good one. Mentally, he wondered what Mordenna would argue, and that helped him come to his conclusion. “The human definition of ‘alien’ in common parlance relates to a species coming from outside of Earth. Considering Mordenna and I were of this planet and Fal-Mai was created on it, I would not imagine we fit the strict definition. However, by one of its sub-definitions—relating to anything suitably outlandish or uncanny—I imagine we would.” He gestured. “As with many things, it is in the eye of the beholder.”

Leo shook his head. “So, largely, no?”

“In essence, yes.”

“Then what  _ do _ we call you lot?”

“Is ‘Chosen’ not good enough a designation?”

“Well...” Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “Now this is just leading me into questioning if you guys classify as your own species.”

As Jax launched into that particular discussion, it left him wondering. He’d never deigned to mingle with Eliza’s forces before. Them seeking him out like this was rather curious. But, as Leo explained himself, perhaps it was a snowball effect. One turned to their side swayed many, and he supposed it lead up to the gathering he had today.

Still, he wasn’t necessarily complaining. It felt... nice, to know the ship’s opinion of him was turning. Nicer still to know it would have the knock on effect of them looking upon his followers more fondly. If anything, that was what was best about the whole situation.

Unconsciously, he smiled. It was nice to have more friends.


	17. Following Orders

Cocytus knew an audience with the Elders could be a blessing or a curse. In their case, they were unsure which one awaited them.

As a Specter commissioned by Elder Helena, their duty was to seek out and punish the Chosen wherever they went—killing them if they could manage it. They hadn’t managed such a thing on their first deployment, mainly thanks to the Assassin’s willingness to sacrifice a limb to survive. Her brother’s follow up didn’t help either, but that was beside the point. Cocytus had merely maimed, not killed, the Assassin.

So this call to the Meeting Hall was one fraught with uncertainty. Still—they were a loyal agent of the Elders. Whatever They decreed would be reasonable, given their performance. All they could do was wait and see what the Elders had in store for them.

Wait they did, until the fires of the braziers around them erupted in spectral flame. They knelt, waiting for the decree of the Elders to decide their fate.

“ _ Cocytus. Our agent of punishing the treacherous. _ ” Elder Helena’s voice led the Elders, though Cocytus could hear the other Elders behind Her. “ _ Your first outing has left something to be desired—but nevertheless, you have made a mark on the Assassin. _ ”

Any shred of unease they had abated. A limb was no small thing to take, unless compared to her life. They nodded. “I wish to do better, my masters. I seek only to punish them for the crimes they have committed.”

“ _ You will have your chance, _ ” They replied. “ _ As for your companion... _ ”

“May I intercede?” The Elders grew quiet. They took Their silence as a chance to continue. “Zuriel performed his duty to expectation as well. He allowed me passage in and his abilities in keeping a dimensional gate open were proven. The blow the Assassin dealt to him will serve as a reminder to watch for such attacks in future. If I may be so bold, I plead that You allow him to continue to serve, by my side or otherwise.”

The silence in the Meeting Hall could be cut with a blade. Cocytus simply waited as there was a low buzz of activity from the Elders in front of them. Finally, They turned Their attention back towards them. “ _ You ask much, Cocytus, but We see why you would wish to pardon Zuriel. The actions that need to be taken are clear—Zuriel will have their second chance, as will you. But your duties are firstly to disrupt the Chosen, as you should know. _ ”

If Cocytus could breathe, they’d let out a sigh of relief. To see Zuriel tossed away on a whim simply seemed  _ wasteful. _ There was a place for proper punishment, they believed, but Zuriel had been a useful asset.

“ _ You both must prove you are worthy, _ ” the Elders continued, “ _ for there can be no failure. Should the Chosen lead the Commander to Us, all will be lost. _ ”

“I understand, my masters,” Cocytus replied, bowing their head. “I will devote myself to tracking the Avenger itself and delivering Your will to them.”

“ _ As you should. _ ” Cocytus could feel a few files being directed into them. “ _ There are multiple initiatives to launch an aircraft suited for bringing XCOM to its knees. You are to firstly protect all of them from being stopped, and secondly to ensure XCOM is rightfully punished when they succeed in finding the Avenger. _ ”

Accepting the files, they gave them a quick once-over. Only one of them was openly calling itself a “UFO Initiative.” That one was linked to a VIP being moved through a city regarding a “mole in the resistance.” One of them was a psionic relay being masked as conveying information regarding the Avatar Project. The last was the least assuming—a facility that was “researching advanced armor upgrades.” If XCOM were predictable, the Commander would assail the first two and leave the third to chance. How could they see through it without the proper files?

Cocytus stored them deeply within their memory banks, looking back up at the Elders. “I accept my mission willingly, my masters. Would You have anything else of me before I see to Your will?”

“ _ We have nothing else for you, Cocytus. _ ” The Void tugged around them. “ _ See to your duties. _ ”

When the Void pulled, Cocytus went, riding the wave of force like it was a deep sea current. So smoothly they moved that they were able to slip away from the Elders’ intended destination for them. They had other things to attend to first, and weaved through the Void unto their true destination.

At last they landed, after a query to the Network. They were in one of ADVENT’s last medical facilities for their forces, reserved for those who proved themselves worthy. There, Zuriel was sat on a bed shaped for them. Currently blind, but not senseless, they watched as his plates shifted from the current of energy in front of him. “... _ hello? _ ” No voice, save for the one spoken into the minds of those around him.

“It’s me,” Cocytus assured, walking up. They planted a hand on his armor, and Zuriel’s plates settled.

“ _ What did you say to Them? _ ” Even if he wasn’t visibly nervous, it was clear Zuriel was still shaken. “ _ One moment I’m due for reclamation, the next I was ushered here. _ ”

“I discussed with Them.” Cocytus leaned on Zuriel as they spoke. “I made Them see that your performance was more worthy than it seemed—after all, you handled the mission assigned to you beautifully. It was not your charge to take down the Assassin—it was mine. And I would not see you punished for my failings.”

Zuriel’s massive psionic aura calmed, and one of his plates shifted just enough to wrap a tentacle around Cocytus’s shoulders. “ _ Thank you, Cocytus. It... means much to me that you would risk your own life for mine. _ ”

They shook their head. “Think nothing of it. It was merely the right thing to do. However, you must watch out in future regarding the Chosen, alright? Even if the Assassin does not reach you, we have it on good intel that the Hunter has bullets that might pierce even your armor.”

Zuriel’s tentacle curled a little at the end. “ _ I understand. It seems impossible to hide from the Hunter... _ ”

Cocytus patted his side. “I can always assist you. I escaped the Hunter’s sight long enough until I’m certain he heard his sister’s shoulder pop. Next time I can offer you a thin coating of my nanos to make you invisible to even him.”

“ _ I would be extremely grateful, Cocytus. _ ”

Cocytus nodded, and it was then that they saw a human scientist round the corner. Knowing that it was there to assist Zuriel’s recovery, they stood up from their lean on him. “I leave him to you,” they spoke to it, “and I will accept nothing less than your best effort.”

The human nodded, and said “bring it in” to someone behind it. Other humans appeared with instruments and tools, along with a Muton they assumed was for heavy lifting.

Cocytus gently patted Zuriel’s side as his tentacle retracted. “You will make it, Zuriel. I have faith.”

“ _ I believe in your faith, _ ” he replied. “ _ Goodbye for now, Cocytus. _ ”

They nodded, and disappeared from sight, ready to travel the Void once more. Their duties awaited.


	18. |____|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This excerpt deals with not the sadness of depression, but the haze that kills motivation and leaves you wondering just what's wrong with you, in that passive and detached way. Came out of one night of sleeplessness.

It was in the darkest hours of the Workshop that Mordenna was really confronted with his inner thoughts.

The timer in his head noisily ticked into his third hour of low productivity as he stared at the device on his workbench. He knew he should be working on it—it was the device that would be governing how Fal-Mai’s new arm functioned. Yet he simply watched it, as if he expected it to build itself, his brain humming with white noise.

Mordenna usually counted himself a productive man. Stuff like this, where he was gazing longingly at his machines like a schoolchild at homework wasn’t exactly him. So what was going on? He wasn’t really sad, anymore. He worked out everything between Fal-Mai and Jax at the present moment. Was there something he had forgotten? Couldn’t be it—he would’ve hit upon it by now and his brain would’ve had a riot of a time shaming him for it. No, he was just... here. Here and getting little to nothing done.

It was around 2 AM for the ship, and he’d forced Lily to go to bed, so this was firmly a hell of Mordenna’s own creation, he knew that. The time on the ship was lent a surreality by how bright it was in the Workshop. If he had a circadian rhythm to adhere to, Mordenna could only imagine it’d wreck his sleep cycles—if he wasn’t naturally a night owl to begin with. He didn’t quite know anymore.

Speaking of, what did he know of himself? Mordenna blankly brought one of his hands around, staring at it. He was Ref-Il Mordenna, though he’d rather forget his first name. He used to be David Tomko. He  _ was _ the Hunter in ADVENT, now he was XCOM’s Hunter. He used to be a spiteful git with no remorse nor empathy, now he was maintaining a healthy relationship with his adoptive family and working on himself as a person.

He’d like to think it all would stay that way. But his life was ever-changing, it seemed, and a lot of it was out of his control. He just... didn’t feel like he had a proper grip on himself, anymore. At least when he was being difficult to work with in ADVENT, that was his choice. It was his choice to defy the Elders where he could, even if it ended up with him earning a few lumps for his trouble. But he  _ chose _ that. He chose to be difficult. He chose to get beat, time and time again.

Now? Getting kidnapped by Eliza was nice, but it wasn’t his choice. Wasn’t his choice to start working for XCOM, really—it was that or the perceivable future spent walking the walls of a cell in solitary confinement. It wasn’t his choice to get snatched by his brother while he was still a Reaper and be converted into the Hunter.

Even the things he had choices in seemed so inconsequential—or when they weren’t, he kept making all the wrong ones. It didn’t seem like much to just not antagonize everyone. It wasn’t much to be passive instead of being aggressive. Though it was much, he didn’t make the right choice when it came to target priority. Even if Bradford managed to talk him out of it in the moment... he couldn’t help but come back to it, now.

But the worst thing was that he didn’t feel  _ sad _ about it. Not at the moment, anyway. He was caught up in this distinct lack of motivation to actually do anything with himself. He didn’t have the energy to work, he didn’t have the energy to go seek out his siblings, who would undoubtedly be up at this hour, and he just didn’t have the energy to  _ feel. _ In a way, it was a cruel blessing—Mordenna had always wished he didn’t feel. But this cold oblivion, this crushing  _ numbness... _ he couldn’t say it was what he wanted. He’d thought it would have been more freeing to be nothing, to feel nothing, to have to worry about nothing but the next breath.

But it hollowed out his chest and left a gaping hole. It left his lungs feeling like nothing was passing through them even as he kept breathing in and out. It left him wondering what the point was, of everything.

The worst part of it all was knowing that last statement was a cause for concern. But without the energy to even do anything self-destructive about it, what was he to do? Go to Eliza or his siblings and just say “I’m not feeling much?” What kind of issue was that? If he wasn’t feeling much, he wasn’t feeling sad. If he didn’t have the energy to go throw himself off of the top of the ship, it couldn’t be all that bad. True, it was bad if he was trying to work on something—but all he’d need to do was wait for Lily to come in the morning and then he’d throw on his happy mask as usual and get to work, pressured into doing so by having another person in the room.

It wasn’t good. But he couldn’t say it was bad. Mordenna kept staring at his hand like that, even if the seconds continued to tick on by in his head. It was nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

Maybe he  _ was _ depressed.

He’d always fought himself on that point. The point wasn’t that he didn’t have evidence before—it was practically written on the walls of his Stronghold every time he made the walk of shame back in from another tumble, another bitterly cold freeze, another bullet in the brain. He was afforded the luxury of immortality, and he sure was a depressed immortal.

But now that things were better? Now that he had support systems and people who actually gave a damn? Strangely, he found himself giving  _ less _ credit to it. He really didn’t have a reason to be depressed anymore, did he? Life was pretty good. He had his own Workshop to make whatever he wanted, he had his siblings to hang out with and have good times with, and although he didn’t have a chance in hell with Eliza, she was still the best friend he could ever ask for. In the face of all that, he didn’t have the right to be sad, did he? There was hardly anything to complain about.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

And yet here he was, distinctly feeling like the hand that was presented before him wasn’t really his. In fact, he couldn’t claim to say it was  _ him _ looking at it, either. He felt so... detached, from himself. He was David Tomko. He was Ref-Il. He was the Hunter. He was Mordenna. What would he be next? Who would take him from his home next year and turn him into something entirely new, rendering his previous life meaningless but to taunt him?

Who was he? Who was the Hunter? Was it bad that not even he really knew? He could pin a few traits to who the Hunter was—the Hunter was a cold-blooded killer. He would just as soon go after enemy soldiers as he would the innocent civilians in the havens with them. But  _ that wasn’t him. _ Not anymore. He was on the “good side.” He shot ADVENT, not XCOM. But as his past self would taunt him, was the killing all the same, at the end of the day? He pulled a trigger, something died, another point earned for the side he was on now. Mordenna was just a passive observer unto himself, watching as he flowed from one state in life to the next.

The hardness of his palms from years of working with weapons and firing them in equal measure, was that him? Or was that David, who undoubtedly lived a tougher life in the Reapers? Was David him, or another entity entirely that was forced to harbor him like a parasite?

This wasn’t even getting into the fact that he was noticing things about himself that he couldn’t even pin to David. When Eliza pointed out the fact that he knew about the Geneva Conventions because she did and it got imprinted onto him during the six months of data upload, he’d laughed it off at the time. Now that he was given a moment to think over it all... him and Eliza had a lot in common, and that wasn’t the sign of chemistry it sounded like. The way they ended sentences, their propensity to gesturing... Mordenna had heard that Eliza tended to talk to herself. Whenever Mordenna wanted to do something, even though he was ambidextrous, he’d always default to his left hand—and Eliza was left-handed.

Who was he? Who was Mordenna? Was he just scraps and pieces of whatever was lying around? Was “Ref-Il Mordenna” just another name for a homunculus of other people?

He let his hand drop, and he raised his eyes, staring blankly into the horizon. He didn’t know. Mordenna didn’t know who he was, he didn’t know what was wrong with him, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t have the energy to be self-loathing, to cry, to get angry. He just  _ was. _ Like the early morning haze, his self was something that he felt like would never be in reach, never be something he could grasp a form out of.

Slowly, gently, Mordenna crossed his arms and eased his head to rest on them, closing his eyes. God willing, the haze would break and he would start to feel again. He could get angry, he could get upset, he could seek out his siblings and cry. But for now, there was nothing he could do.

Nothing but stew in a hell of his own creation.


	19. Past Horrors

Tygan wished he could have approached the situation earlier better, but supposed he’d gotten what he had asked for. At least, in part. 

As he entered his Lab, he turned around to make sure Celosia made it in alright. He... would have liked to think he could have predicted that all of the Rulers would have a bad reaction to seeing him in his lab coat. At least that way he could take responsibility. Said coat was over his arm right now. He’d put it back on when he needed it again. 

Celosia walked in, ducking under the doorframe. Upon seeing the inside of the lab, she squinted her eyes, but didn’t seem perturbed otherwise. Still, Tygan wanted to make sure. “Celosia, are you absolutely sure you are comfortable with me examining you in here?”

She continued walking in, ambling as she looked around. “It’s... familiar, in here, but not by much. Just the smell and some of the supplies. Vahlen’s lab had different  _ aesthetics _ to it. For someone like Vel’kiin... I still don’t think she could come in here. Smell is very important to Berserkers and Mutons. It would probably bring back the memories regardless of how it looks.”

Tygan nodded, folding up his coat and putting it on a free spot on one of the counters. He almost wondered if there was some way he could help that and make the Alien Rulers more comfortable, should they ever have to be in his Lab. If he could accommodate Eliza, he could accommodate them. “If you are certain you will be comfortable... I must also apologize again for—”

“I appreciate it,” she interrupted him with, “but repeated apologies don’t do anything. I take you to know what you can do in the future to avoid that?”

Even if the statement had been somewhat dismissive, Tygan didn’t begrudge her for being curt. It was just in his habits to be apologetic. He nodded. “I do. Now...”

Before he even began, he watched Celosia set her eyes on the greenhouse that took up the rest of his Lab that wasn’t reserved for his primary trade. She started walking towards it. “Is this where you are housing your plants?”

Figuring they could always get around to what he wanted to do afterwards, he followed after her. “Indeed. ADVENT themselves had pioneered a type of light that could mimic—“

“Can I go in?”

As Celosia looked back at him, it was hard not to see the thinly-veiled anticipation in her eyes. Seemed she had found something that they could both get into. He offered her another nod, trailing behind her as she made her way into the greenhouse.

The inside of the greenhouse was one of Tygan’s favorite places on the Avenger. The various smells of the plants he was cultivating all blended together, along with with pervasive scent of wet earth. Plants lined the aisles, and at the very back was the tree he’d grafted multiple branches onto. Fitting its roots into the limited space had been interesting, to say the least. Celosia was looking around, almost swiveling in place. He was sure she’d be spinning around to look at everything if not for her anatomy. She bent down to look at their potatoes, running her hand over the soil. “... so strange,” she began. “An enclosed space like this is suitable for their life?”

Tygan came in behind her, checking to make sure the readings on the status report were alright. “Yes. The lights in the ceiling mimic the light that our sun gives off, allowing the plants to grow without being exposed to the outside. A watering system keeps them hydrated—the only problem I face is managing the roots of the tree.”

“Of course, of course.” She walked to it, looking up at it for a long moment. “—am I seeing this correctly? Did you graft other branches onto it?”

“Yes. Admittedly, I was not the one to come up with the idea.” There was a space at the back for Tygan to come up next to her and he took it. “Sherry, one of our soldiers, was the one to inform and teach me of the practice. From there, it was a few  _ interesting _ missions later until we had a respectable collection of branches. I admit, I would not think trees so accepting of foreign branches.”

Celosia chuckled. “You would be surprised what the plants on my home planet accept. If you grew some species close enough, they would conjoin and exist symbiotically. Of course, that’s even without a little help from us. I can tell the plants have been treated well.”

Towards the end, Celosia’s voice tinged with a painful nostalgia, and her hands dropped to her sides. Tygan was left to wonder at what he should say. It was clear Celosia was homesick, but how to comfort her? He didn’t want to offer physical comfort and startle her. She had every reason to mistrust him, as well. He looked towards the chimera tree. “... is there something you would like to say?”

She sighed. “There’s too much for me to mourn over. I want to move on, but even when I try to lose myself in what interests me... I can’t help but find my old friends. My subjects. My family.” She went quiet for a minute, then smiled ruefully. “... look at me. You just wanted to glean some ideas from me and even were kind enough to let me look at your greenhouse, and here I am stewing in my gloom. Not very mature of me, is it?”

Calmly, Tygan readjusted his glasses. “I think it’s only natural to linger on the past and anything that reminds you of it.” Maybe a bit of empathy would help. “... I find myself dealing with that when I find myself working, sometimes.” He looked to Celosia, who motioned for him to continue. “I... worked for ADVENT, in my past. In one of their earliest gene clinics. Despite the time that has passed since my exodus, whenever I go to work, I find myself thinking of it all again. It is pervasive, no matter how much I wish to move on from it. I don’t think you ‘immature’ for continuing to linger on what must’ve been a large part of your life before you were taken.”

Celosia was silent for a bit. The quiet was broken by the sprinkler system activating, dousing the plants in moisture and starting to further increase the humidity of the room. Before she spoke, she extended a hand under one of the sprinklers, looking away from him. “I wasn’t exactly taken from my home, unlike the others. I don’t suppose you’d like to hear my story since you shared yours?”

“Go ahead, Celosia.”

She nodded. “Vel’kiin, Shazara-Ta, Rodin... all of them had been taken from the planets they had rightfully ruled. I had a different path. When ADVENT came, my servants and allies fought claw and nail to ensure my escape. I had intended to die there with them, but they could see that if ADVENT took me, it would be a fate worse than death. So I absconded from my country and went into hiding with the servants that remained for a year.”

Her tail flicked, and she sighed. “In one of our relocations, we discovered one of ADVENT’s Gates. It was clear that we would not be able to rally and win on my planet, not with the odds so stacked against us. I had better chances escaping to one of ADVENT’s more recent conquests and allying with them there, on a planet they were less established.”

Celosia’s eyes lidded. “ADVENT... watches their gates heavily. We had a patrol coming upon us, and my servants made the decision for me. They merged with the Gate, sacrificing themselves with the speed at which they had to adapt to do so. It was either linger, get shot, and make my people’s sacrifice for nothing... or plunge myself into an unfamiliar planet for hopefully a better shot at striking back. And I would not disrespect my court—not when they are the only reason I’m standing here today.” She chuckled bitterly. “A certain lot of good it did me when I stumbled into the facility that they were holding my cohorts in. Vahlen, for all of thirty minutes, had been a savior to all of us. Clearly she felt she had to change that.”

Celosia sharing her story like this was humbling, to say the least. Tygan barely knew what to say. Everyone’s stories always seemed to be more tragic than his, more justified than his working at a gene clinic—and for what reason? Because he was invited? Some part of him knew that refusing would make him suspicious, but even still...

Having left his datapad out in the Lab proper and with nothing else to do with his hands, Tygan idly rubbed the edge of a nearby planter. Nothing to do but focus on the last part of her story, because at least he had something to talk about there. “... every time I hear of the crimes of my predecessor, I cannot help but wonder what  _ inspired _ her to such lengths. It...” He pressed his eyebrows together. “It  _ astonishes _ me the decisions she has made. You say she was your savior at first—what possessed her to change that fact? Had she kept things diplomatic and worked alongside all of you, I estimate we would be much farther ahead in our fight against the Elders.”

Celosia crossed her arms. “You’re just saying things I’ve already thought over—not that I don’t appreciate the mutual horror, of course. I know Vahlen. She faster put us in containment and began to experiment on us than ask us our names. Well, I would say ‘faster’ if there was any competition—I don’t think she asked us at all. We were all already weak from having been captured and kept locked away. Wasn’t much to her to simply change where we were contained.”

Vahlen’s many crimes simply further brought in an emotion that Tygan didn’t deal with all too much: anger. He gently gripped the edge of the planter. “The fact that I am left to deal with the destruction caused in her wake further incenses me towards her. None of you ever deserved such wanton cruelty. I can only hope that I can approach things better than she ever did and make you and your companions feel safer whenever we must interact.”

“The fact that you’re hoping and worrying at all makes me feel calmer.” Celosia’s hands dropped again. “I know the others vehemently hate her and anyone who looks like a scientist. But I... I just want to move on. I can’t spend my energy hating and hating when there’s the real possibility that I’ll never see her again. Don’t get me wrong—I will despise her until the day I wither away and die, and should the Great Mother enter me into Her halls, I will continue to denounce her. But my time is far better spent thinking of those I love and concerning myself with winning this war. With doing what interests me.” She took in a deep breath. “So would you hold a grudge if I asked to stop speaking on this? Maybe more, maybe later, but I’m in a greenhouse full of Earthen plants and I’d like to get a better look at all of them.”

Well, that wasn’t too hard a request to honor. Even if he had more to say on Vahlen, he’d let Celosia get lost in his greenhouse. He’d get around to the examination later. For now, he could simply stay with a kindred spirit. “Of course, Celosia.”

Her smile came back. “Thank you, Tygan. I’ll try to put in a good word with my partners—you don’t seem at all like Vahlen and you deserve them knowing that. They’re the greatest friends I know.”

“I would appreciate such a gesture.”

“Ah, yes.” She turned to him. “ _ Afterwards _ we can get started on that little examination, if you’d allow my to mentally prepare myself. I trust you won’t do anything invasive.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I find that I can learn what I need to from my live subjects via surface observations and a few questions.”

This time, her chuckle was soft. “A fan of getting to know people, hm?”

That had to be some sort of joke. But, without anything to reply with if it was and the need to maintain his persona, he simply went with the dryest answer he could think of. “It’s easier to learn from those on the table when they aren’t either dead or frantically resisting you. I’ve no experience with the latter, of course, and I don’t desire it.”

“Well spoken.”

Celosia looked back to the tree. Soon enough, she would have her questions, and Tygan would offer the best answers he had. But for now, they shared a moment of comfortable silence in the pleasant heat of the greenhouse.

Perhaps, Tygan mused, he should get out of his Lab more often.


	20. Seer's Homesickness

Strange times made for strange bedfellows, and Marlene would be ashamed to admit that this friendship escaped even her watchful eye.

She sat where she tended to be in the Studio, closer to the back than anything else. This early in the morning, it was only mildly populated by its usual occupants—just a few Mystics and some of Jax’s other soldiers milling about, discussing one of the paintings made recently. Of course, it being this early didn’t matter much to her current partner of conversation—Edgar.

Edgar himself was seated with her on the floor, merrily talking away with her, seemingly unaffected by the whispers that surrounded her. His omen of ravens flanked her, and his companion was currently seated in  _ her _ lap for once. She appreciated the company—Nevermore was relaxing to pet, even if she never got to feel his feathers.

“You sure you don’t want to get a feel for him, Kara? I guarantee he wouldn’t mind.”

His interjection made her consider her gauntlets. Custom-made for her to contain her powers and lessen their effect on those around her. Considering how much she had spooked the Hunter with them  _ on... _ “I will abstain, Edgar.”

“You should not fear your powers,” Nevermore responded. “If they are part of you, chaining them can only harm you.”

One of her fingers twitched. Oracle—her  _ Revenant, _ as Mordenna had deemed them—gently leaned down next to her ear.  _ “He does not know,” _ they whispered.  _ “He does not know how those words echo to you. Unfortunate repetition. Unwanted advice, yes. Be firm.” _

Marlene looked away, lidding her eye. “There is merit in calculated control. I do not  _ suppress _ my powers, as you may fear. I guide them and I calm them. It is not only to protect others—it is to protect myself. Psionics are most powerful when active, but they leave their users vulnerable.”

Edgar nodded. “And considering you’ve told me yours are always active...”

“Yes. My gauntlets keep a measure of my power within myself, so I am not...  _ exploited. _ ” She started petting Nevermore again to calm herself. “I understand your care behind your advice, Nevermore, but I cannot follow it, for the safety of myself and those around me.”

Nevermore leaned gently against her hand as she scratched his cheek. “My apologies for my presumptions, Seer.”

“It is no fault of your own. I think it is wonderful that the Commander has fostered an environment where other psions can practice their powers freely. It... reminds me of the ambiance of the Temple, in a way. Perhaps not as many psionic signatures congregated within such a space, but comparable.” When it was peak time in the Studio and even the psions that were humans joined, that was when it closely reminded her of home. She did dearly miss the Temple and the presence of the Prophet, but...

Her hand halted on Nevermore. She could not go back with the High Inquisitor there. Her safety was here, where she would be protected from his own  _ motivations. _ Geist sent her here for a reason. Convincing the Council to let go of their Seer was a herculean task, but the Holy Father had managed. Even harder, considering the Inquisitor’s influence.

Marlene was homesick, she knew this much. She sighed, taking her hand off of Nevermore. “I must apologize for my departure,” she began, “but I wish to talk with Kalight regarding matters of the Temple. Would you excuse me?”

“Of course, Kara.” Edgar looked a little downcast, but he maintained a calm smile. “Nevermore, get over here.” When he did, Edgar rested a hand on him. “You can always come back here if you want to hang out again—I’m usually around this area. Failing that, just ask one of the stray members of my court if you see them about and I’ll be there in no time at all.”

She stood up and bowed to him. “I will remember as such, Edgar. In case we do not meet again today, I wish your day will be well.”

“As to you as well, Seer.”

With her goodbyes exchanged, Marlene made her way out, watching as Oracle waved goodbye. Of course, without Edgar looking through his seeing-eye raven, the gesture was lost. When the Mystics waved to her, she nodded back.

Once she was out in the hall, she allowed herself a sigh when she confirmed nobody was around. “Good grief...”

_ “The Temple surely longs for you as much as you long for it. This does not mean you are beholden to returning.” _

“Of course, of course.” With no audience, Marlene dropped her “Seer” gig, lapsing into speech that was more comfortable with her. “I just... miss Geist. And the large sermons. But you’re right.” She crossed her arms. “So long as  _ he’s _ there, I... really shouldn’t go back.” Marlene shuddered. “I thank Her for the nights when my nightmares are interrupted by visions.”

_ “You are Her favored child,” _ Oracle responded, gently patting her shoulder with one of their tentacles.  _ “And we are Her gift to you. She cannot intervene every night, but there is a reason why your visions primarily come in the darkest hours of the morning.” _

“The discretion helps...” Marlene let her arms drop as she kept walking. “Just wish I didn’t have what are essentially seizures every time it happens.” The intensity varied each time. Sometimes she’d just stop in whatever she was doing, beholden to the events of the future. Sometimes it was what she’d heard Sherry classify as “generalized” seizures.

_ “The powers of the Earth are extreme...” _ Sadness radiated from Oracle.  _ “But She means you no harm, child.” _

“I know. She can’t really control it, as I can’t either.” Marlene turned a corner, quieting down for a second as she passed some engineers. When she was confident that they were far enough behind her, she went on. “Better me than someone unprepared for them, I suppose. Or someone who doesn’t have a guide as discerning as you.” She patted their tentacle. “It’s ok. Honestly, as long as I’m away from  _ him, _ I can manage.”

Oracle’s sadness faded, and their tentacle curled around her hand.  _ “Of course. We will continue to guide and protect you as we always have, Child of Earth.” _

Marlene smiled gently. Having a constant companion in Oracle made things easier to bear. The stares, the whispers that did not belong to them, the ostracization... with herself alone, it would’ve been too much. But Oracle was a blessing.

Eventually she made it to the Barracks, and she let her hand fall, returning to her silence. A lot of the soldiers were still milling about here, and some of them waved to her as she entered. Nodding back, she set her sights on Kalight’s bunk. Sure enough, there he was, cleaning out his gauntlets. As she approached, he looked up. “Ah, my Seer. Is there something you require of me?”

Marlene gently leaned against the side of the bunks. “Nothing that should interrupt the upkeep of your equipment,” she replied, slipping back into her persona. Normally she’d talk comfortably around Kalight, but this was a public space.

“Please, Marlene.” Kalight set one of his gauntlets to the side. “What do you need?”

She laced her fingers together, looking down at her gauntlets. “... it concerns matters of the Temple. Nothing has happened, I merely... wish for a companion to talk to that will truly understand my plight.”

Kalight nodded seriously, slipping his gauntlet on and getting up. “To a more private avenue?” When Marlene nodded, he walked past her.

She followed after him naturally, and as they passed the group of soldiers all batnering, she watched as Oracle’s tentacles extended out towards them. It as habit for Oracle—they were just keeping her in the know. Once they did a surface skim of the soldiers’ thoughts, they retracted.  _ “Not much recent news,” _ they spoke.  _ “The Hunter appears to have left from the  _ **_Commander’s_ ** _ bedroom.” _

“Scandalous,” she replied under her breath as they left the Barracks. “The Warlock leaving the Studio have anything to do with that?”

_ “ _ **_He_ ** _ was last seen heading towards the Bridge... so perhaps there is some merit to any budding rumors.” _

“Are they a thing and they haven’t announced it, or?”

_ “Hard to say. There is a burgeoning betting pool transpiring. Crudely titled the  _ **_Bone Pool._ ** _ ” _

Marlene shook her head. “Nosy fools,” she muttered, with a trace of irony.

“Something the matter, Seer?” Kalight turned back to look at her.

She shook her head again. “Simply talking to Oracle.” Outside of the Templars—and whoever else could see them—knowledge of the Oracle was purposefully minimal. Being her bodyguard, Kalight knew of them.

As such, he nodded. “Anything in particular I could ask about?”

“Just this burgeoning  _ betting pool _ regarding who will confess to the Commander first.”

He chuckled at that, looking back ahead. “I’ve heard of that. I refuse to participate... but you know I am rooting for our Holy Father.”

“As am I, of course.”

Their conversation stopped momentarily as they came upon the entrance to one of the storage rooms. Kalight opened the door and they ducked inside. They often used this room when they wanted to talk with each other about Templar matters and not be eavesdropped upon. Kalight took his usual spot on one of the crates and Marlene followed. “What’s troubling you, Marlene?”

“To put it bluntly?” She gently kicked her feet. “... I’m homesick. But you and I know exactly why I can’t set foot in the Temple until  _ he’s _ been dealt with.”

Kalight bobbed his head, leaning on one of his legs. “I completely empathize. I, too, have resolved to stop visiting the Temple so long as  _ he _ walks there.” The High Inquisitor’s name was never spoken between the two of them if they could help it. It was a small, petty act of vengeance. “I would not leave you alone to deal with your problems if you cannot walk the halls of our home as I can.”

“I appreciate the solidarity.” She rested her head on one of her hands, the fabric inside her helmet pushing against her chin. “I simply miss the Holy Father. I understand why he can’t do anything about the High Inquisitor, but... I miss the sermons. I get angry and frustrated about how I can’t be in my own  _ house, _ essentially, because he’ll...”

She withdrew into herself. The High Inquisitor’s crimes were many, and he had taken up his position for a reason. He delighted in the suffering of others, as did his psionics. With her own being so prone to conveying her emotions and their vulnerability... she was his favored target. Geist knew, but until recently, there was little he could do about it.

Kalight scooted closer to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “There will come a time where he receives his proper justice,” he assured her, “and the Earth will judge his crimes rightfully. For now, you are safe at XCOM...” He tilted his head, and his psionic signature conveyed a smile. “... and I can always ask the Commander about bringing the Holy Father closer to the ship. Without  _ him, _ of course.”

She looked back up at Kalight, smiling at him. “Thank you, my Vanguard. I would very much appreciate the ability to talk to the Holy Father again.”

“And I’m sure he would return the same sentiment. The Earth’s Prophet misses Her Child.” He let his hand slide off. “Anything else you wish to speak of?”

“I think that was about it.” Marlene sat up a bit straighter. “I just wished to talk to a fellow Templar for a moment. Not to say Oracle is bad conversation, of course.”

He chuckled, moving to stand. “Then I shall get back to cleaning out my gauntlets. You remember to do the same as well, yes? I know you have your aversion to taking them off, but maintenance is important.”

She sighed. “Yes,  _ dad, _ I’ll remember.”

Kalight shook his head, then pointed above her. She knew he couldn’t see Oracle, but he’d been told before where they usually hung out. “You make sure she does it.”

They extended a tentacle to him, allowing him to hear them.  _ “Of course, Protector of Earth and her Children. It has always been my charge to remind her.” _

She crossed her arms. “I’m not  _ that _ bad about it...”

_ “You are.” _

“Ugh.” She waved them both off. “I’ll do it after the Barracks clears out a little more. Just so I’m not creeping everyone else out through presence alone.”

“I understand, my Seer.” Kalight made towards the door. “Be about the rest of your day, and I shall see you at breakfast.”

He opened the door and made sure it closed behind him, leaving her to her thoughts and optionally a conversation with Oracle. She rested her head on her hands again, sighing. “I hope we won’t be bothering Geist by asking him to enter the ship.”

_ “The Prophet will hardly be bothered by tending to his Seer.” _

“I know, but like. Still.”

_ “Your worries are understandable, but unfounded regardless.” _

Marlene rolled her eye. “I suppose I’ll trust you for now.” She pushed off the crate. “Do  _ you _ remember what today’s breakfast was going to be?”

_ “According to a snippet of last week’s vision... eggs, oatmeal, and toast.” _

“Ooh, eggs.” Marlene started to walk out. “Think that’s thanks to the Black Market?”

_ “Undoubtedly. To the Mess Hall?” _

Walking out of the storage room, Marlene smiled to herself. “To the Mess Hall.”


	21. Finding Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter of TDF contains elements of torture and finger trauma.

It’d been a real long time since Mordenna interrogated someone personally.

But sometimes, you had to do things yourself. Such was the case he was faced with Thomas Junes. Eliza explained to him that she usually handed such “Dark VIPs” over to Cato, her Informant. Preferred not to get her own hands dirty—and she really didn’t have anyone on the ship fit enough to carry them out. Mordenna could understand the lack of cold-blooded killers—you get a Vahlen once and you tend to avoid types like her for the rest of your days. That, and Liz was too nice to not be cheery around most of the time.

Him, however? He was fine getting his hands dirty. It was always his style.

With nowhere else to put him, Thomas had been locked up in Mordenna’s old cell on the Avenger. The Chosen Holding Cells had been demoted to regular old Holding Cells, and Eliza offhandedly mentioned that she had no clue what else she was going to use it for. Good thing she didn’t demolish them before now, at least. The virtually-soundproof nature of them would lend well to Mordenna’s efforts. He wanted to torture Thomas alone—not anyone else on the ship. Him howling like the wild, wounded animal he would soon become wouldn’t be good on anyone’s ears, he could guess.

Armed with a few choice tools at his disposal, Mordenna sauntered into the Holding Cells. The atmosphere was dead silent save for the ever-present thrum of the ship’s engines. He took a moment to think over the questions he wanted to ask, how he might approach Thomas. Someone either brave or stupid enough to rat out XCOM would be an interesting nut to crack. Was he the former and would take a little more effort out of Mordenna than usual? Or was he the latter and would sing like a songbird?

For some reason, Mordenna was hoping for the former. It’d be more interesting, at least.

He let a grin tug mildly at his lips as he opened the door to his old cell, stepping in. In the middle of the room, tied to a chair with his arms bound to the armrests, was the man himself. He looked a little ragged—Mordenna hadn’t bothered to carry him too carefully, as focused as he was on the mission he’d been undertaking. His black hair was scraggly from wind and his lone, brown eye fixed on him. Honestly, were he tied up in a chair in front of him, Mordenna would pin this guy as being one of those perfect haven leader types. Maybe he was, at some point. He’d soon find out.

Thomas sneered at Mordenna, but Mordenna could tell by the pinch of his eyebrows that he wasn’t exactly without fear. “You’re not getting anything out of me, asshole.”

“My, my.” Mordenna crouched down to his eye level. Been a while since he’d slipped into this act. It was damn spiteful. “I haven’t even so much as branded a weapon yet, Thomas. What makes you think I’m here to pry info out of you, hm?”

“Don’t fuck with me. I know what you’re here for and you’re not getting it.”

“Such confidence!” Mordenna rested a hand on his own leg. “Perhaps you’ve got me in the sense that I  _ am _ here to torture you, but you seem awfully convinced you’re going to keep your trap shut.” He then sighed. “Regarding info, at least. You’re being chatty enough as is.”

“I don’t care what the hell you do to me.” Thomas bared his teeth. “The Commander turned her back on all of us when she started picking up alien fucks like you. Bad enough she went with the Skirmishers.”

“Oh, boo hoo.” Mordenna mimed a crying motion with his hands. “Ms. O’Leary picked up all the bad, meanie foreigners and I don’t like it. Let me just undermine humanity’s chances at being free again to show how upset I am.”

“You don’t know jack shit about humans,  _ Chosen. _ ”

“Hey, I  _ was _ one. I’d like to think I know. Vaguely, anyway. Some of my best friends are human, too!”

“You think they’re actually your friends?” Thomas balled his hands into fists. “You think anyone here doesn’t just put up with your sorry ass? I don’t even need to know you to know you’re one of those joker types, always clowning around trying to get attention from everyone because their parents didn’t pamper them enough. You ain’t special.”

Hm. Guy was trying to get a read on him. To his credit, he was somewhat accurate, at least. Somewhat. Mordenna shrugged. “Yeah, I do. Helps me sleep at night. And hey—when your parents are the Elders, you’ll take anything else you can get.”

“Of course you would.” Thomas spit, but despite what Mordenna would expect, he didn’t aim it at the Hunter’s face. Maybe he had  _ some _ sense. That thought, too, was quickly subverted. “Bet that Commander bitch makes a nice woman in your mind, huh?”

Well. Mordenna had hoped to banter with Thomas a little bit longer before getting down to brass tacks, but that rather threw all the fun out of the window. He knew Thomas was doing it to get a reaction. Mordenna badly wanted to shoot him right there—maybe pistol whip him? But that would show he hit upon something useable. As much as he hated thinking over the nasty things he said to Fal-Mai, he  _ did _ learn something from that interaction.  _ Don’t let him see he got you. _

Mordenna chuckled. “Wow, you’re salty! You gotta shittalk all the women in your life to make yourself feel better, you sad, sad man? Imply I’m lonely all you want—an attitude like that will leave you with even less action than I get.” That number was still zero, but best to talk confidently.

“Fuck you,” was his imaginative response. Seemed  _ Mordenna _ had hit upon something.

Still, he guessed that Thomas was now closed to banter. Fine by him. Mordenna shrugged once more. “If you say so. Now, this has been a lovely chat and all, but I have a job to do, here. Mind if I get to it?” When Thomas merely stared at him venomously, Mordenna took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets, then gently slipped out his hunting knife. For someone of Thomas’s size, it was closer to a machete in length. “Perfect. I’m gonna start asking questions, m’kay? Would be great for the both of us if you just answered them all straightforward-like. If you don’t wanna answer, well... I’ve got my ways. Any questions?”

Thomas continued to hold his silence. “Fine, guess that means I can go to work quicker. Question one!” He leveled a look at Thomas. “How did you originally learn of XCOM?”

No response. Mordenna sighed. “Oh, you’re just making this harder on yourself, y’know? I’ve got all day to stand here and ask you questions. I’ve got patience, Thomas. I will admit I’m lacking one thing— _ tolerance. _ ” He tossed his knife to his other hand. “One last shot. Mind telling me?”

The staring contest between the two of them continued. Looked like Mordenna would have to get his hands dirty. Fine by him. Mordenna let his gaze become icy and any pretense of levity drop. “You know what’s interesting, Thomas? When asked what finger they would lose if they had to, a lot of people answer the pinky, or the ring finger. Some even are fine losing the middle finger. But, statistically, you would be better off losing your index finger. Your other fingers control a lot of your grip strength, as it turns out. And, well, without a thumb, you’re not much different from any other animal. Worse than a monkey, in fact.”

Ever so gently, Mordenna tapped the tip of his blade on the index finger of Thomas’s right hand. “I’m a generous man, Thomas. Very generous. I’ll start with the first joint of your index finger right here. You end up not talking long enough to lose your index fingers, you won’t be down too much. After I move onto the others, well... the choice is in your hands, figuratively and literally.”

Now knowing what Mordenna was going to do, Thomas kept his hands resolutely tightened into fists. Not like it was going to help him, of course. Mordenna reached over with his free hand and got a solid grip on Thomas’s index finger, prying it from its position. From there, he held it so it was forced to point towards him. Mordenna might’ve been skinny-looking—but he had strength outmatching any mortal.

Mordenna rested the edge of his blade on the side of Thomas’s index finger, riding that first joint. “My buddy here... he doesn’t see much use nowadays. Been a while since I was on a genuine hunt. But I’ve been keeping him sharp the whole time.” Gently, he rocked the blade. Thomas tensed in his chair as the action brought forth beads of blood, quickly smearing on his knife. “See? I could just jerk my hand to the side and hit that joint of yours real quick. But, seeing as your lips are still firmly sealed... I think I’ll take my time.” Languidly, he slid it upwards, feeling Thomas struggle both against his grip and his bonds. Blood continued to run down the blade. “Ah, been a while since I drew red blood. All orange nowadays. Gotta thank you for the chance.”

His grip on his hunting knife was firm and unyielding as he continued to whittle away at Thomas’s finger. Thomas himself was sucking in breaths, desperately trying to escape as Mordenna slowly drew closer to the bone. Wouldn’t be too long—wasn’t much to cut through. Mordenna kept his eyes fixed on his quarry. “You can make this stop, Thomas. Just tell me how you know. There’s no permanent damage yet. Your tendons might be a little worse for wear, but that’ll heal up... so long as I don’t go any further. You’ve got the choice here.”

“F—fuck you!”

“Mmm.” Mordenna slowed down with his cutting... then did a sudden jerk of his knife-wielding hand, instantly hitting the bone. Thomas screamed out, rocking the chair as he thrashed away from Mordenna. “If that wasn’t clear, that was a wrong answer. You can answer wrong here, as you’ve found out. We’re onto mildly serious damage now, and if you’d like to really be difficult, I can carve this little bit off through the second bone in your finger instead of going through the joint. My buddy here is sharp but he’s no bonesaw. You really wanna know what it feels like to have a flat edge steadily carve through bone, Thomas?”

“Nnnn...” Thomas’s blood was now on Mordenna’s hand, having slid down his blade. “N-no...”

“I thought so. Want to let me know the answer to my question?”

Thomas hesitated, but the want to not lose a bit of his finger clearly won out. “I... I was second in command at Justice Creek, in New England.”

“US New England or Old England?”

“Old England. Leader died. I took his place. Started working with XCOM through that.”

Mordenna gave an empty, taunting smile. “See? Wasn’t so hard. You give me my answers and I don’t have to get violent, Tom. Question two. How did you contact ADVENT?”

Thomas swallowed. “I got on one of their radio frequencies. Masked my signal first. Told them I had info about you guys. Managed to put a—” Suddenly, Thomas stopped, pressing his lips together. “There. I told you.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Mordenna leveled a cautionary look at Thomas. “Sounds like you’ve got something else to say. Mind enlightening me?” When Thomas jerked his head away, Mordenna rolled his eyes. “If you’re holding off because you think you’ve got a chance in hell of getting out of here, forget it. Best case scenario you’re held in a prison somewhere until we oust the Elders. Or I shoot you, that would be merciful of me. Worst case scenario...” As he went on, he ground the edge of his blade against the bone in Thomas’s finger joint, causing him to gasp and groan in agony. “You keep your silence and lose yourself, bit by bit. I’m not just talking physically—you know what losing a limb does to you, Thomas? Makes you feel weak. Makes you feel  _ useless. _ And if you don’t talk, I’ll work my way up to doing that.”

Impressively, Thomas continued to not divulge what he knew. Mordenna raised his eyebrows for a second. “I find it harder and harder to tell if you’re incredibly brave or mystifyingly stupid, Thomas. I suppose I’ll find out in the end. Just remember...” He tightened his grip on Thomas’s finger. “You did this to yourself.”

With that said, Mordenna maneuvered his knife. He was looking for a specific joint where he was at, and he was fine with missing it a few times. Thomas sure sounded like he minded, judging by his yells whenever Mordenna repositioned the blade. Soon enough, he found that groove where the two bones connected. “Ah, there we are. That’ll make things easier. One more chance, Thomas. You haven’t got any outside of me.”

“ _ Ok! _ Ok! I’ll talk!” Thomas panted hard for a bit, face red with the effort of his earlier screaming. “I—I had a tracking device stuck into one of the crevices of that ship that flew into my haven. It’s still active. I have the machine tracking it back at Justice Creek.”

“Ah, how enlightening.” Mordenna removed his knife from Thomas’s finger, idly watching as blood streamed to the floor in lazy pulses. His own hand was coated with it, along with his knife. “I trust we won’t meet any resistance should we go searching this haven for it?”

“I...” Thomas tried to bend his finger and winced, quickly giving up on the prospect. “They might... might get jumpy if you start rooting around everywhere. It’s in the house with the bright blue roof. Back room.”

Thomas was squealing like a pig and Mordenna hadn’t even fully taken off any fingers. On one hand, he was mildly disappointed. On the other... he wondered how good a look it was, taking joy in interrogating a prisoner. Made him a regular Vahlen, didn’t it? Old Him wouldn’t have cared. But knowing the vehement hatred a lot of people on the ship held towards her... well, Thomas was right. He  _ did _ seek validation in other people.

Couldn’t let Thomas know he was thinking of taking mercy and not letting this go any further, though. “Very good, Thomas. Doesn’t it feel better to not have a knife just raring to take off a bit of your finger? Question three. Got any family lurking about, Tom?”

Thomas’s face shifted into apprehension and horror. “N-no.” He was lying.

Mordenna sighed. “Hey, we’re not an organization that takes and kills any extended family for one guy’s crimes. I’m asking to notify them. Next of kin, and all. Don’t think you’re gonna die if you cooperate but might as well let your family know you ain’t dead, yeah?”

Thomas’s eyes flickered to the left for a second, clearly considering telling Mordenna anything. “... yeah. They’re all in the haven. Don’t... don’t do anything to them, they didn’t want me ratting you guys out...”

“You’ve got my word, Tom. Worst that’ll happen to them is them just having to deal with the fact that you were... oh,” he said, holding his index finger and thumb so close together they were nearly touching, “ _ this _ close to selling out humanity’s one hope at victory.” He then chuckled. “Wish you listened to them now, huh? I know Eliza working with as many aliens as she is might get a little concerning, but there’s better ways to bring up your complaints.”

He just nodded, not making eye contact with Mordenna. Seemed the Hunter had scared him rightfully into cooperating. Mordenna  _ had _ been prepared to deliver on all of his threats, but it was better that he didn’t have to hand Thomas back to Eliza with him looking like he’d been through a woodchipper and lived.

“Alright...” Mordenna studied Thomas. He really  _ had _ been that close to sending heat after XCOM. Still, about that tracking device... “Question four. Where on the Skyranger is that tracking device?”

“Inside. Between the crack of the seats, left side.”

Looking Thomas dead in the eye, Mordenna spared a finger to press against his ear. “Commander? Want you to have Firebrand check out her bird. Supposed to be a device on the left interior side, between two of the seats. I want you to confirm this.”

It was a second, but Eliza responded. “ _ Got it. I’ll have her check. _ ”

Mordenna let his hand, still clutching the knife, fall away. “You’d better be telling the truth, pal. I don’t much appreciate being lied to.”

“If—If she hasn’t moved it, I’m not lying.”

“We’ll see here real soon.”

Mordenna kept his eyes locked on Thomas, simply waiting as the silence between them dragged out. Perhaps he shouldn’t be taking satisfaction in interrogating people anymore... but this was a guy who was a direct enemy of XCOM. Was he allowed leeway in this case and this case alone? Not everyone in ADVENT wanted to personally take down XCOM, that much he knew. If it had been some simple secretary or scientist he’d dragged in, well... He could just get Jax in here to do a deep pull of their mind and pry out the info he needed. Thomas here directly wanted to get back at the Commander for taking all the allies she could get.

Speaking of his opinion on the Commander... he thought about his remarks towards her and he narrowed his eyes. Just that act made Thomas’s breathing still. While he was satisfied in instilling the fear of god within this asshole, he wasn’t about to let that comment towards Eliza slide. Mordenna was many things—a ruffian, a nuisance, he was sure his brother would call him a charlatan in the act of debate... but he wasn’t someone who needed to tread on one of the fairer sexes just to make himself feel better, or because it was the “normal” thing to do. Maybe it also didn’t help that his shit-slinging was firmly aimed at someone he very much loved. He would need to do something about that act of disrespect.

Still, it brought him around to his original thinking point—where was the line drawn? Where could Mordenna fully take pleasure in getting his hands dirty in someone else’s blood? Was it bad that he was taking pride in getting Thomas to spill his guts over just a notch in his finger? Should he have avoided the whole moral quandary by just getting Jax in here to pull everything he could out of his brain? Maybe. In fact, the more Mordenna thought over it, the more he realized it was what he should’ve done.

He shouldn’t be taking pleasure in this.  _ But he insulted Eliza. _ Plenty of people do that.  _ He did it to your face. Implied you only look at her as a sex object. _ Well... if it was a personal insult...

“ _ Mordenna? _ ” That was Liz. “ _ Firebrand found the device. Is that related to Thomas? _ ”

Mordenna clicked the communicator again. “Sure is. Means my friend here wasn’t lying. Destroy that—and you’ve got a date for a ‘Justice Creek’ over in New Old England. Y’know. England, basically.”

“ _ Noted. Thank you for getting the info, Mordenna. I trust Thomas isn’t too badly battered? _ ”

Well, to tell the truth or not... He looked down at Thomas’s finger, still slick red with his own blood. “He’s got a notch in his finger for his troubles, but he complied fairly easily. Good head on his shoulders, I think. Probably should just imprison him until we get the Elders and ADVENT out of here.”

“ _ I hear you. Feel free to stop interrogating him whenever you want—that was about all I wanted to know. _ ”

“I’ll get around to it.” He dropped his hand again, considering Thomas. Thomas looked somewhat relieved to know he hadn’t been made a liar, and perhaps he had the assumption that Mordenna was running out of things to ask of him. That was true... but one thing still lingered in Mordenna’s mind. He kept his gaze pretty cold as he began to speak again. “Well, Thomas, I’m about done with you. No more questions, but I do have one more thing to handle.” He tilted his head up a bit. “Eliza’s a bitch. That your words?”

“I, uh...” He could see Thomas starting to sweat. “That... I didn’t mean that.”

“You seemed sure of it. ‘Bet that Commander bitch makes a nice woman in your mind.’ That’s not a sentence you say for no reason. You, very clearly, meant to reduce her to nothing more than a derogatory word. An insult. She’s a  _ bitch. _ You know what  _ they’re _ like.”

“I-I’m sorry. I-I didn’t... I’m sorry for insulting her.”

“Just  _ her? _ ” Mordenna tilted his head slightly. “Sure, the worst thing you did was insult her. But you also insulted  _ me. _ You went right ahead and implied that all  _ I _ see the Commander as is someone I can stick my dick in. I’m certain you didn’t mean I enjoy her personality and talking with her on a regular basis—and not just to keep her there and look her up. Is that the kind of Chosen you think I am, Thomas?”

“No—no I don’t think that’s who you are. Please. I didn’t mean it.”

“Mmm.” Mordenna examined his knife. “If you say it once without consequence, you’ll be emboldened to do it again. And again. And again. You’ll think everyone around you is ok with it. Worse, you’ll find people who  _ share _ your views.” His eyes slowly slid to Thomas’s, and his voice turned ice cold. “ _ Best to nip this in the bud. _ ”

Thomas had about a second to realize what Mordenna meant before he quickly took his knife and wedged it into the groove of Thomas’s finger joint. With quick, jerking motions, he sliced through muscles and tendons, sliding his blade right through the joint. With his accuracy, the tip of Thomas’s index finger was off and on the floor before he’d gotten to the height of his scream. Thomas’s agony rang in Mordenna’s ears as he kept up eye contact. No pleasure. He didn’t take pleasure in it. Thomas just needed a reminder.

After letting his new stump bleed for a bit, Mordenna took mercy and reached into the pouch on his belt—but not before cleaning his knife off on Thomas’s pants and holstering it. “Shut up and keep your finger still.” Thomas quieted, but he was clearly still reeling from the pain. Freeing up his other hand, Mordenna wrapped up Thomas’s finger in bandages, stymying the flow of blood for now. “I’ll eventually get you a medic so you don’t lose too much blood. Eventually. Hope that lesson sticks in that thick skull of yours. Anything else to declare?”

Thomas rapidly shook his head, and Mordenna could spot tears brimming at his eyes from the pain. He’d learn now, hopefully. Wasn’t like Mordenna would have to deal with him much after this.

Suddenly, the reality of the whole situation struck Mordenna. His mind stopped as he let his face slip into a neutral mask. Without a word, he leaned down and picked up the bit of Thomas’s finger, walking out of the room. He gave himself long enough to put the fingertip in a bio bag he’d brought before he collapsed against the wall.

_ Best to nip it in the bud. _ The whole mentality of quashing something before it could become a problem as the person in power. Giving someone a painful reminder that they had to deal with and driving them to tears.  _ Sorry not being good enough. _

Was he just his father? Was Mordenna some shadow of Odin, repeating his behaviors and actions when the time was right? He’d been trying so hard to sever himself from his spiteful nature. He never, ever wanted to become what Odin tried to make him into.

He clutched his forehead with his non-bloody hand. “Different circumstances,” he muttered to himself a few times, trying to hammer the point home. “Odin was abusing a kid. You are teaching an asshole a lesson. You may have been in power but he wasn’t ‘yours.’” He still felt like shit, but... Mordenna took in a deep breath. It was different. Mordenna had been beaten most of his fifteen years of life under Odin. Thomas had one encounter with him where he cut a bit of his finger off.

“Different circumstances,” he muttered again, trying not to think of his own voice echoing in the halls of his Inner Sanctum, crying out in pain and betrayal. “Different circumstances.” Maybe he’d call that medic sooner rather than later. He pressed a finger to his communicator. “Hey, Liz? Might’ve ended up going further in interrogation. Personal reasons. Uh. Send down Sammy with tools to stifle blood. Like, say, I cut off the end of his finger.”

“ _ Ouch, _ ” was Eliza’s immediate reply. “ _ I suppose if he was uncooperative... he at least got a bandage on? _ ”

“Oh, yeah, I wasn’t  _ that _ dumb.”

“ _ Wouldn’t take you to be, but I have to make sure. That it? _ ”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Actually, no. Eliza... I’m not like Odin, am I?”

There was a moment of silence over comms, hollowing out a hole in Mordenna’s chest with each second. Eventually, Eliza responded. “ _ Well, for one, the fact that you’re asking already disqualifies you. No self-respecting Elder would ever question their own behavior. For two, would any Elder ever put care towards those around them? You teaching your brother how to shoot and designing Fal-Mai’s headphones and her upcoming arm haven’t exactly escaped my notice. You aren’t Odin, if my message isn’t clear. You’re Mordenna, and quite frankly, I think Mordenna is a wonderful guy. _ ”

The hole in Mordenna’s chest swiftly filled, and a genuine smile tugged at his lips. Leave it to Eliza to cheer him right up. He wasn’t exactly completely free of worry... but what Eliza said made a lot of sense. Odin wouldn’t exactly care about anyone around him. Mordenna had been making up a lot of ground at XCOM. Maybe he still needed to watch his behavior, but suffice to say, he was far from being an Elder.

Mordenna sighed, though not entirely out of tiredness. “Thanks for answering, Liz. I just... get worried sometimes.”

“ _ I think it’s good to occasionally check and worry about your own behavior. Want to talk more about it? _ ”

Well, in order to talk more about it, he’d have to get into  _ what _ Thomas said with Eliza, and... nah. His siblings he could get into that with. Eliza herself? That’d be damn tricky and prone to several misunderstandings. “Nah, you be about your day. I’ll snag one of my sibs to talk about it, so long as I haven’t been bugging them lately with how much they’ve needed to comfort my sorry ass.”

“ _ Do you think they’re complaining? _ ”

“... not really. But I always have to be a joker, Liz. I ain’t much of a person otherwise.”

“ _ Give me twenty minutes and I’ll disprove that. _ ”

“Eh, I’ll take your word for it. And I mean it,” he said before Eliza could interrupt him. “That was... also part of the joke. I think I still have more to learn about myself, but I think I’m getting a better grip on who I am. Still, bottom line? I’m gonna see what Jax is doing. Brotherly solidarity, yeah?” And he’d be able to relate to that specific phenomenon.

“ _ Alright. You can’t find him, you come to me, yeah? _ ”

“Yeah. Talk to you later, Liz.”

“ _ Talk to you later. _ ”

With that, he let his hand fall. Maybe less interrogations in the future and more hanging out with his siblings. That seemed to solve everything.


	22. Exercising Forgiveness

Wiki would have to admit, both personally and mandated by her code, she had some biases.

Mostly they were towards Specters. After all, every Specter she’d dealt with felt like... what was that human expression? “Pulling teeth?” Considering how much pain a human would be in and the effort required to pry loose adult teeth, she considered it fitting to use that in relation to her experiences. They had an infuriating amount of smugness because of the twins they were made by and they were keenly aware that they were made to supplant Codices. Honestly, the thought of them made her frustrated.

But... Mordenna had a fair point. She hadn’t really talked to Schro for any extended period of time, had she? The most they had was when they had first joined up with the team, and they hadn’t really shown that typical Specter behavior then, either. Of course, Wiki had been able to chalk that up to them trying to be humble in order to get on XCOM’s side. Not that she thought that they were going to betray the Commander—at least, they didn’t have the orders to infiltrate and do so. She just figured that it would be a better look for them to not go being all high and mighty to the “inferior lifeforms.”

So, maybe it was best to see if they really  _ were _ like that. Which was why Wiki was currently stepping through her favorite dimension, passing through walls at just the right angle to let her through. Schro had to be around here somewhere—and even if she wasn’t on their exact plane of existence, she’d be able to see them well enough.

Ah, there they were. Same dimension as her, sitting in the Commons and watching the hazy, flickering outlines of the soldiers. She quickly zipped in, fiddling with her hands before speaking. “Uh. Hey, Schro.”

Schro jumped a bit, “looked” at her, and then looked away. “Hello, Wiki. Do you need something...?”

Schro looked more nervous than condescending. A promising start, even if she felt a little bad that she might be intimidating them. “I...” Well, how would she start this? After a few cycles of thinking, she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve given you a fair time thanks to my personal biases.”

That got Schro to look back at her. “... in all honesty, I don’t blame you. My fellow Specters haven’t exactly made it easy to be friends, I’d imagine.”

“Yeah, well.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve recently been told that maybe I should probably give people a chance if they’ve made their way on the Avenger. Really isn’t fair of me to peg you as an asshole if I haven’t even talked with you much.” Wiki then plopped down next to them. “So, I want to start over, if you’d be willing. Someone who’s willing to help out Fal-Mai by reprogramming one of their own dead people has gotta be good, right?”

Though Schro didn’t laugh, she watched as their body language eased up. “I’d be happy to give things another go around if you are. And besides...” They rubbed their thumbs against each other. “I feel it is only right that I assist with giving Fal-Mai control back, considering the one who took it away from her.”

“Yeah.” Wiki leaned back. “I... kinda feel the same way about Mordenna. You know Codices record meetings that happen in the Meeting Hall regardless of what happens, right?” Though they shook her head, she continued on anyway, looking to the side. “Well, they do. And... there’s a lot of logs of just Odin calling in Mordenna to punish him. A  _ lot. _ A lot of which I have.” She got quiet. “Some of which  _ I _ recorded. And I just... I feel  _ terrible _ having to just stand there and watch him suffer like that.”

The silence afterwards made Wiki question if she really should’ve revealed something like that. Eventually, Schro leaned back with her. “It’s natural to feel terrible about that, I think. But you have to realize there was nothing you could do without getting yourself killed, yes?”

“I know. But.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I still feel terrible about it. I feel terrible having to approach Mordenna at all, knowing what I do. I just hope he never asks if those meetings ever got recorded...”

“He seems determined to move on, if I know anything about him.” Schro laced their fingers together. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to provide that info to him. But, if I may be truthful...” They also looked away. “Knowing how Specters regularly talk down to Codices and hearing of your personal experiences? Well... I had originally meant to talk to you first about starting over and perhaps trying to become friends. But I put it off because I didn’t want to make you have to suffer me or dread the thought of talking to me.”

Oh. That kind of hurt. Hearing it come from someone else really put her feelings towards Mordenna in perspective and she looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. In your position, I feel like I would act the same.”

She nodded, sitting back up. This was a fairly enlightening experience. It was... strange, to interact with a Specter like this, but she supposed the Avenger tended to bring out the best in people. Hell, one of the  _ Chosen _ was the one to bring her back to life, which she was still in mild disbelief over.

Still, she felt like apologizing wasn’t enough. Wiki leaned over and pulled Schro into a hug. “I’ll say it again—I’m sorry. If I made you feel that way, you deserve my apology.”

Schro seemed moderately stunned for a moment, but eventually she could feel their arms around her back. “... then I accept your apology, Wiki. Thank you.”

Wiki rested her head on their shoulder. This was nice. She really should’ve given Schro the chance to prove themselves sooner. After all, if people on the Avenger could forgive the Chosen...


	23. Venting It

Well, Jax wasn’t exactly incapacitated, so Eliza supposed she still had that conversation in store for her.

Eliza had finished up her conversation with May and made sure she would be settling in alright, and was now making her way down towards the Infirmary. She’d radioed Mordenna and apparently his followers had been there to greet him at the Armory and they assured the Hunter that he’d be seen to. Eliza was glad Jax wasn’t majorly injured, but the suffering of her soldiers always weighed on her heavily nowadays. Before this conversation, she’d be making sure he was alright, first and foremost.

She tapped the panel to the Infirmary and stepped on in, composing herself. Jax was sitting on one of the Chosen beds, apparently in idle conversation with Samhien. Maria was close by, her veins aglow. She was probably helping Jax with his headache. In itself, not unusual. But, hm. It seemed Samhien had wanted to double check that Jax didn’t have any more shrapnel hiding around, as Jax’s armor was off, leaving him in his skintight undersuit. As much as she was concerned for Jax, that was a hell of an alluring sight. Forcing herself to shake her head and think more pure thoughts, Eliza began speaking as they all looked over to her. “Jax, Maria, Samhien. Is he doing alright?”

Sammy nodded, smiling at her. “Warlock Tessura is free of all foreign bodies and his wounds have been properly seen to. I must admire Hunter Mordenna’s work in the field—it was rather...  _ Spartan, _ but unusually skilled.”

“What did he say, again...?” Jax scoffed. “Right. That it was best not to ask why he knew so much about human anatomy and how to patch up wounds, by extension. I would not think him beyond dissecting humans.”

“Horrifying!” Eliza grinned. “Happy to hear you’re doing alright, though. There weren’t any pieces of shrapnel that Mordenna didn’t catch?”

“One or two remained, but they had been embedded in the skin and were not suited for removal in the field, even with his tools.” Samhien tapped a nearby table—one of those metal, small ones she saw in hospitals all the time. As she further approached, she could see a dish that contained two bits of metal, coated in orange blood. “These two required special tools to extract.”

She nodded, looking to Jax. “And how are you feeling?”

“Less like a pincushion, more like my proper self.” He offered her a graceful smile. “Maria willing, I will soon be free of this headache, as well. And, of course, that means you and I may indulge in that conversation you agreed to.”

“Of course, of course.” Eliza pulled up a chair nearby, taking a seat. “... you did pretty damn well in that haven, Jax. Doesn’t take a keen eye like mine to see you were going all out in keeping both your squad and the members of the haven safe. Sucks that you got held up for your troubles, but your solving of that was admirable, too.”

His smile turned a bit more prideful, and he puffed out his chest slightly. “If I may indulge, I appreciate your recognition of my efforts. It may have been trying, but I intend to put in no effort less than my best into this.”

“A good attitude to have.” She looked at Maria. “Rest of his congregation doing alright? Can only imagine hearing their Holy Father get stuck in front of a Sectopod blast might be a  _ little _ distressing.”

“They were certainly worried,” she replied, “but I was able to convince them not to crowd the room as I assisted with his headache and Samhien took out the last pieces of shrapnel. I, of course, helped with the healing process afterwards.”

“I do need you in here more often,” Samhien said a bit sheepishly, “I do not seek to tire out your powers, but the ease with which you heal injuries would definitely speed up the recovery process.”

Maria nodded. “I’d be more than happy to assist here. Just make sure to call me down when I’m required, alright?” When Sammy nodded, she turned back to Eliza. “I was also able to get them out of the room by suggesting they prepare the Studio so their Holy Father might be comfortable upon his return.”

Jax looked like he knew something he shouldn’t and he was amused by it. “Is that related to me witnessing them furtively smuggling some beanbags out of sight...?”

She put a hand on her chest. “You weren’t supposed to know about that!”

He just laughed, shaking his head. “I can act well, my Matriarch. I may always pretend that I saw nothing and be pleasantly surprised by the beanbag that looks like you could hide Mordenna in it.”

That got Eliza to laugh. “Oh, boy, if the Tailors are making beanbags I might ask for one in my room. Nice, lazy chairs. Could probably get a few for the Commons, as well.”

“They would be more than happy to provide, Commander. Now.” He addressed Maria. “I believe my headache is nearly nothing now, and if Samhien has nothing more to do with me, I believe the conversation I wish to have with Eliza would best be held in private, if you would allow me.”

Maria nodded, standing up from the bed. “I’ll make sure to let the rest of your congregation know that you are doing just fine, and that you certainly don’t know what they have in store for you when you get back.”

“I appreciate it. And, of course, if I forget, I would also like an extra item of this surprise I certainly have never heard of for my room.”

The Matriarch laughed gently, patting Jax’s shoulder. “I will be sure of it, my Warlock.”

With that, she left the room, leaving Samhien to nod to Jax. “Come in after... four hours, I would presume for your accelerated healing, so that I may change your bandages. Let me know if you experience any bleeding from your stitches or bruising.”

“Of course, Samhien.”

Samhien took the medical table away from his bed, over to the sink area. As he deposited the shards in a biohazard bag, Eliza leaned back in her chair slightly. “... you sure you’re alright with me just—”

“Eliza, if you are attempting to weasle your way out of this conversation,” Jax interrupted, giving her a pointed look, “I will have you know that I fully intend to sit here and heal while I listen to you voice your grievances. It is what you should be allowed to do regardless of your position.”

She waited for Sammy to leave before continuing, saying “see you later” as he left. After he did, she sighed. “Sorry. It’s just terminally ingrained in me to just... deal with it all on my own. Leaders shouldn’t show weakness, and all.”

“To enemies? Absolutely. To allies? Close friends? I would imagine not.” he then gestured to her. “Allow me to hear you out, Commander.”

She bobbed her head, further leaning back in her chair. “Well, where to begin? I really do constantly bemoan the Council I had to deal with at First Contact... but granted, I might’ve given them valid reasons to question me and how I was going about things. Then again, I also feel that they would’ve given me no end of shit if I wasn’t producing the results they wanted with better methods. But, hopefully they’re all dead or sucking up to ADVENT, which is worse than death if you ask me.”

“Absolutely. It’s very much an immediate degradation of the self to do it willingly.”

Eliza then weakly gestured at nothing in particular. “Still, with them dead I half-thought all of my troubles with that kind of stuff would be over when I woke up from my twenty year power nap. But, no! Turns out havens are more of the same.” As she got more into it, her face twisted recounting all the times. “I’ve literally shown up to havens before, saved their asses, and then the leaders have the audacity to say to my face that things would’ve been better if I hadn’t shown up, just because my soldiers failed to rescue a few people when they had gotten on the scene. Can’t even do the gratifying thing of going ‘well suit yourself’ and leaving them to rot, because that  _ really _ isn’t a good look for the leader of XCOM to be doing. Old Me, maybe. Me now? Definitely not.”

“It’s a measure of character in the face of frustration to continue offering support to those who are ungrateful for it.” He sighed. “Admittedly, were I in your shoes, even now I think I would leave them to fend for themselves. Perhaps seeing what it would be like without my help would truly ingrain the notion into their skulls.”

“Yeah? Yeah. Sadly that’s a fantasy I can’t exactly live out.” Eliza continued to gesture as she spoke. “Great power and great responsibility, and all. I actually leave them to die and they  _ die, _ that really doesn’t paint me in a good light. Still want to sometimes! Oh, lord,  _ especially _ when they started getting uppity about me allying with the Skirmishers.” She kneaded her forehead. “Look, I try to keep my cool. I understand where they’re coming from, I really do, they’ve got valid reasons to hate anyone who’s even ex-ADVENT. But after a while I just get so fucking tired of it! Excuse my language and all, if you will.” Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. “I, legitimately, had havens pull support over that. Then ADVENT showed up and they had the  _ audacity _ to cry for help. Of course I went! But the minute ADVENT were out, they wanted me out too.” She let her arm fall. “I get...  _ so close. _ So close, some days, to absolutely snapping. Trust me, I have figured out I am a kind and caring person by nature, but everyone has their limits!”

Jax spread out his palms. “Only natural, Commander. There will be those ungrateful in the face of your assistance. But, think—your continued insistence on helping these havens gives less for ADVENT to work with—and the havens themselves, in the end. There will be those who will see your repeated acts of selflessness and use it to justify your character, who will use it to soften the blow, in their minds, when you make decisions that are questionable to them. You are very much doing the right thing.” He grinned mischievously. “It does not make them any less of bastards, of course.”

Even if “bastards” was a less vulgar swear than most and could be used in an official capacity, hearing a curse out of Jax’s mouth was so inherently hilarious that Eliza cracked up, holding her forehead as she laughed. “—jesus, Jax, give me a warning the next time you do that!”

He, himself, couldn’t stop from chuckling in response. “My apologies, Eliza. I figured it would lighten your mood.”

“It certainly did that!” Eliza calmed down from her laughter, left with a smile on her face. “I’ll just keep comforting myself with the knowledge that I’m coming out karmically justified and that, at the end of this war, I will be fully obliged to  _ take a goddamn break. _ ”

“Indeed. I can only imagine Mordenna would be more than happy to take over for you for a while.” Jax rested a hand on his leg. “... imagining a life free of having to strike out against ADVENT is interesting, but I am certainly not against it. Rebuilding society would be the next task, I would say, but that should not be up to you.”

“Oh god, yeah. I’ll get the aliens out, everyone else can re-establish whatever the hell they want. I am  _ not _ being held to those kinds of mistakes.” Eliza practically flopped back on her chair. “I will park this goddamn ship next to a beach, have the Tailor Twins make me a swimsuit and I am spending at least a  _ month _ knocking back blue lagoons. You guys are invited. Hell, everyone is. Beach month.”

“I would have to see about a swimsuit then...” For some reason, Jax cleared his throat, looking to the side. “And I would be happy to attend. Still, anything else to declare?”

“Oh I have shit for _days,_ Jax.” She pointed at him. “Misogyny is alive and well. There is a _reason_ I am content to let people think Bradford is the Commander of XCOM. They catch a single clipping of my voice addressing them after Bradford does and suddenly everyone’s questioning the veracity and competence of XCOM. It makes me want to pull my hair out, but I do enough of that when I brush it. I’ve had haven leaders ask me if I’m Bradford _secretary._ _What the fuck kind of Commander has a secretary?!_ ”

Jax could only shake his head, face pinched in mild disgust. “The  _ disrespect. _ It should matter not who you are if you’re humanity’s hope of driving off their conquerors. So long as you are competent, and you have very much proven yourself so.”

“And yet there’s people who seem like they’re all too keen to make excuses for ADVENT—in the  _ resistance, _ no less.” She held her hands out to her sides. “There’s some fuckers out there bound determined to think that ADVENT’s just losing their touch twenty years in and that’s the only reason I’m winning. Fuck, if I could trust them with so much as a  _ squad _ I’d like to suggest that they lead XCOM for a week, see where that gets them.”

“There will be karmic retribution for them one day, Commander. You will live to see that day—or at least live to enjoy a month on the beach, smugly thinking of all the times they insisted you would fail.”

Eliza gave another tired smile, looking Jax in the eye. “And that’s the kind of stuff that keeps me going in the end. Keeps me smiling, keeps me civil. One day, I’ll be the one to sit back and doubt everyone else because I  _ damn well earned it. _ ” She sighed, crossing her arms. “... damn it  _ does _ feel good to vent. You really don’t mind me going off like this?”

“It’s interesting to see this side of you, Eliza,” he replied, “and it does me good to know that it is helping you unwind. Also, it’s amusing.”

She chuckled. “Well, that makes me feel even better. Think I’ve got another complaint coming around...”

As she went on her next tangent, Eliza had to muse on the fact that it wasn't a lie she just told. She definitely was still slightly worried about easing into a more  _ annoyed _ side of her, but if Jax found it funny to listen to? Hell, she’d amuse him all day. Mordenna would probably get a kick out of it as well, and that one time she vented to Fal-Mai, she seemed happy to let the Commander get things off of her chest. Bradford could be included in that mix—and he’d definitely empathize.

Well, if Eliza could shittalk about the people who annoyed her with her friends, that was just fine by her.


	24. Painting Anticipation

Mordenna got up to some strange hijinx, trying to hang out with his siblings.

It was fun to mess around with them. Sometimes it was even more fun to mess with them. This was a strange time when the two were overlapping.

When Mordenna had entered the Studio to talk with Jax, instead of sitting down on one of the chairs like he usually did, Mordenna vaulted onto the table and reclined there, talking at Jax with a straight face. His brother... definitely looked like he wanted to say something, but apparently hadn’t mustered the urge to argue him down. Fine by Mordenna–it was always a game of seeing who would budge first.

Eventually, however, Jax caved in. “Brother, I can hardly have a civil conversation with you while you’re lounging on the table as if you intend to be the next model for the artists.”

Mordenna grinned. “What if I’m getting my practice in, huh?”

Jax stared at him a bit... then scoffed, looking away. But even as he seemed to be projecting distaste, there was a certain challenge to his next words. “We all know you could never contain yourself long enough for them to complete a full picture. Heaven knows that you would be leaping off of the table and running laps within ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mordenna jabbed a finger at Jax. “Betcha you won’t. Betcha you wouldn’t let me get within a mile of that modelling station.”

With a dramatic air, Jax stood up from his seat. Looking Mordenna in the eye, he raised his voice. “Do I have anyone who might be interested in basing a piece off of Mordenna?”

The madman! This was turning into a series of them calling each other’s bluffs. Surprisingly, more of Jax’s followers than he thought spoke up in affirmation. They moved to set the area up as Jax continued to stare his brother down. “Well, Mordenna? Will you leave them disappointed? Or will you live up to your joke?”

Honestly... Mordenna hadn’t been looking to sit down and do nothing for however long it took them to complete a picture of him. He had stuff to do, and in a way, Jax was right—if he knew he had other stuff to do, Mordenna could be strangely impatient. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

But, as he watched all of Jax’s little ducklings set up the area, even moving one of the tables over, having seen Mordenna in his recline...

Eh. To hell with it. Mordenna grinned up at Jax. “Don’t make bets you don’t expect to see happen.”

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Jax enjoyed, it was his interactions with his followers.

Things had been tentative when they were all getting used to the Avenger, but now that they were a few months in? His whole congregation had eased into life on this mobile ship of theirs, and their fears had relaxed when it was shown that he, himself, was doing alright.

The atmosphere, to him, was far more comforting than the one that hung in the air at his Stronghold... especially in the month or so leading up to Eliza taking him in. The air was clear, here, and there was no looming threat of violence if he didn’t meet expectations. Eliza had made that very clear.

So, he was entirely free to be more of a present force amongst his followers. At the moment, he was currently looking over the finished results of his brother’s impromptu art session. Curiously, Odette had joined—Jax hadn’t thought her one to draw close to his brother after everything. He moved from another Mystic’s painting to hers, her scooting aside with her seat to give him a better look.

Odette was one of the more natural painters among the Mystics, and it showed in her skill. Her paintings usually made very good use of rosy light and softer edges—the few darker shadows that did happen seeming to vanish even on the page. He was used to her usual style of art...

... so this was very different. Mordenna had ample lighting on him when he was sitting on his table, but here he was cast in darkness. He had been relaxed in his pose, yet in Odette’s expression of him, there was a tenseness to his features, as if he was ready to leap out of the painting at any moment. Odette had been sitting at an angle to him—nearer his head as he stared directly ahead, but this painted Mordenna’s eyes were locked directly with the viewer’s. His mouth was absent, but by the microexpressions of his facial features, Jax could tell there was a hint of something underneath. Malice? Aggression? It seemed deliberately open to interpretation.

He looked to Odette, who was steadfastly looking away. This was certainly a very different take on his brother—but one he fully understood. This was a glimpse of a Mordenna of old, a being of manifested spite and whim. He didn’t blame Odette for still being afraid of him, but for her to brave her fears and express them on canvas? There was a courage to that. Mordenna had left without looking at any of the finished results, confident that they all had done their best. But if he’d gotten a glimpse of this one...

Jax kneeled, taking one of Odette’s hands. “Odette,” he began, voice soft, “your art is as brilliant as it always is. There is much merit in different interpretation, and you have clearly proven that.”

Odette swallowed, finally meeting his gaze. “B-but... we are all reconciled with the Hunter, are we not...? Is... isn’t it childish of me to still hold my fear?”

Jax shook his head, bringing her hand to his lips and giving it a reassuring kiss. “With your circumstances, and with my brother’s nature, it is completely understandable to still hold the feelings you do. I wish, one day, to help you and him resolve this conflict between the two of you But you are doing just fine, Odette. Do not mistake this.”

Odette let go of a tense breath, shallowly nodding. “Ok. I... I want to see things repaired between us, as well. I trust you, Holy Father.”

Jax smiled. He, as always, dearly loved his congregation.


	25. Interview #1

The times Wiki lived in made her glad to be created.

Sure, there was the unpleasantness of the war between humans and ADVENT—or whoever else wanted to oppose ADVENT in that former category—but she never thought she would be party to alien royalty! Not to mention being able to interview them.

Which was what she was setting up for now. She intended to ask about every question she could come up with under the sun to them individually, then maybe consult a few more general answers as a group. Shazara-Ta was the first on her list. They were all very willing to answer her questions, but she supposed she could pick one and then run through the rest.

Wiki was currently seated on a chair made entirely out of plants, thanks to Celosia. She was going to  _ love _ asking her a thousand questions about the process, but she forced herself to stay on task. Shazara-Ta himself was draped over a floral couch, as comfy as could be to answer whatever Wiki had for him.

“Alright. King Shazara-Ta, do you consent to being recorded?”

“I do.” A corner of his mouth tugged back in a smile. “Ready for whatever you have for me.”

“Of course, of course.” Wiki started the recording in her mind. “Codex Wiki presiding over interview number one. Subject is Shazara-Ta of...”

“ _ Zheng-rai. _ That’s about as close as I can get in the human tongue.”

“Shazara-Ta of  _ Zheng-rai. _ I will be asking whatever questions come to mind, though I will try to maintain  _ some _ kind of order.” Wiki crossed her legs. “Who are you, Shazara-Ta?”

“A king of a planet that recognizes me not.” He sat up slightly. “I was the third son of Kin-Ta, born of his first royal consort Dezin-Ku. My oldest brother rejected the throne, while the younger... died of scale-flit.”

“If I am not insensitive in asking, what is scale-flit?”

“It is a virus on my planet that chiefly infects Neonates. It attacks the immune system, then weakens the layer of flesh that holds our scales, causing them to weaken and fall off. Scales that grow to replace them are brittle and break at the slightest provocation. Without scales, our species is defenseless and weak, and the weakening of the immune systems opens up the young Neonates to other diseases they would normally fight off.”

“How is it transmitted?”

“An... insect, I believe the term here is, known as an  _ ilkon. _ They burrow beneath our scales and root themselves there, biting us to gain access to our blood. It’s a painful bite they cause, so Neonate cries are treated very seriously. However, once bitten, if the attending nurse Viper doesn’t act quickly, they could already be host to scale-flit.”

Wiki nodded. Quite the tangent. “Alright. How does succession usually go?”

“Male Vipers,” Shazara-Ta began, “are rare, compared to female Vipers. There are certain ingestible medicines to help the chances, which are typically offered to the royal family. Males born within the family, to the King, are the ones next in line for succession. I believe humans actually have a similar construct for royalty?”

“Very much so. What about the Queen?”

“The Queen is the consort that birthed the next of kin. I suppose that is where the human conventions and ours differ—the Queen was not the partner of the King, but rather, his advisor. It was typical for the Queen to be much older than the King—though with how fast our kind matures, the difference is not evident for too long. But, I digress.” Shazara-Ta rolled his hand. “Once a male is born to the royal house, he is raised as the darling of the family until he has matured. After that, he is given the choice. The throne, or his own desires.”

“Huh. Succession isn’t a guaranteed thing?”

“Indeed. It is  _ near _ guaranteed, because what kind of Viper wouldn’t want to be King? There was even a time in the past where succession was forced upon them. But, after a few societal reforms—mostly by my... hm, grandfather, is it? My father’s father?”

“Correct.”

“Good. My grandfather was the one to institute a majority of the reforms, including allowing sons of the royal family to choose their own destiny. It hadn’t actually been put to use before Izhin-Ta put it to the test and went his own way. Quite the fuss that stirred, and honestly I wonder to this day what would make him deny the throne.”

“Well, personal choice is always an important deal.” Wiki shrugged. “And everyone has their reasons. I’d imagine one that would make him refuse the throne would be a valid one.”

“I suppose.” Shazara-Ta sighed, looking off to the side. “I guess it’s my nature of taking gladly to the responsibility that makes me question his decision. But, it was his, and... I hope he found his happiness before ADVENT arrived.”

Wiki nodded, resolving to come back to the invasion of ADVENT later. “I have to ask—how is the royal family sustained? What is the societal impact of having one family in power?”

“You’d be surprised at how the power is upheld between us and the people. But, your first question first. I made mention of royal consorts, and I will mention them again. Consorts are chosen after they pass an aptitude test. Considering any one of them has just as likely chances of becoming Queen, it is only right that they all are competent enough to take the throne. Typically, Kings only hold one or two at a time—any more than that was simply seen as lecherous. The consorts may quit at any time they wish—even while pregnant! The royal house will pay for their maternity needs up until the Neonate is of age.”

“That sounds...” Not exploitable, certainly not. Wiki could imagine that the aptitude test was strict. “... interesting, I must say. Perhaps good on the royal family/house for looking after them like that.”

“It’s only expected. After all, it would be the King’s fault that the consort is pregnant. Best he continues to assist her if he can’t be there in person.” He laced his hands together, the tip of his tail gently swaying. “As for the power dynamic between us and the people? The King and Queen do start the decisions, but then what they wish is passed onto the House of the Voice—an institution funded by the non-royals, where Vipers can go to vote on where they stand regarding our decisions. Before the voting starts, we are given time to make our case to the people regarding why we are trying to pass what we are. We present our evidence and try to sway them to our side—but ultimately, it is in their hands as to whether or not it passes. They  _ are _ the ones who will have to live with what we decree, after all.”

“Is there one singular House of the Voice?”

“Ah, we refer to them all singularly. Every city had them—and when voting times started, free transportation could be arranged to them. With the ease of voting and the public awareness of how much impact you had on your own future, turnout was always consistently very high. Admittedly, we suffered from some...  _ fudging of the numbers _ in our past, but the people eventually said ‘get your act together or we’re ousting you entirely.’ Considering we still have the royal family, we rightfully capitulated to the former.”

“Nothing like the threat of revolution to get royalty to shape up.”

“Oh, I’d definitely say. Plus, if you ask me, it’s the royalty’s charge to look out for the people. Being in such a position of power comes with that responsibility.” He then gestured to Wiki. “Other questions?”

“Right, right.” Well, they were on the topic of society. “So there was the royal family—were there any other Vipers in positions of power?”

“Of course. We had Vipers as leaders of individual cities and towns, those decided on by public vote of course. They handled various responsibilities for the city, such as where to direct civic funds and managing the local enforcement. To avoid corruption, there were two types of inspections done—one from a public body, and one from the royal family. Records would be checked, business owners would be questioned, and anonymous surveys would be taken.”

“Hard to bribe both at once, I’d imagine.”

“That was the thinking. I kept on top of corruption for the short time I was ruling.”

Short time? That perked Wiki’s ears. “... to the best conversion of Earth time that you know, how long were you a ruler?”

Shazara-Ta looked down in thought. “—I was ruler for three moons... I really don’t know how to convert that. If it’s any kind of comparison, Viper Kings are known to rule for over three hundred moons. I wasn’t King long before ADVENT came.”

Wiki grew quiet for a second. Her insatiable curiosity burned to ask her next question, but she knew she could come off as badgering or insensitive. “Not long at all, then. Forgive me for asking if it’s intrusive, but what was First Contact like for your planet?”

“Don’t fear for intruding too much. If I don’t say what I know, nobody will.” Shazara-Ta turned his head to the side, staring at something off in the distance. “... I’ve taken the time to compare Earth’s technology to ours. We were quite farther ahead in some aspects—mostly our ability to probe the reaches of space. We actually spotted a few planets with intelligent life, but were still working on ways to reach out somewhere in a Viper’s lifetime. We turned our eyes to the stars one day to see a fleet of ships heading our way. With no way to reach out to them first, we hoped and prayed they were peaceful. They were approaching fast, and I took to the populace, asking what they wished to do. A sizeable majority wanted to welcome the visitors with open arms... so we tried.

“It... shouldn’t be too hard to imagine what happened from there. We had no sort of alien defense force—and we hadn’t fought wars or needed weapons in  _ ages. _ My people were  _ slaughtered _ and captured. We found a frequency to contact them on and I laid myself at their feet in surrender, asking them to leave my subjects be.” His sigh was full of frustration. “A  _ coward. _ That was what I was. I know it was for the best in the end, but I can only imagine what they rightfully thought of me before ADVENT took me away. From what I hear from Shel-Za, they took a Viper willing to bend to their commands, installed him as King, and have been mining the planet for resources ever since. The next thing I know... so much time has passed. They drugged me and kept me for genetic material, as far as I know. My first moment of clarity after that was when the lab I and my fellow rulers were being kept in was raided by Vahlen’s forces. You know the rest of the story from then.”

Wiki’s hands settled in her lap. “... I don’t think you’re a coward for wanting your people to be safe above you. I think that’s the opposite, in fact. You did what you could with what you knew.”

Shazara-Ta chuckled bitterly. “You sound just like the others. I want to accept that as fact, I do. But I’m always left with the doubt that maybe there was something I could have done. Maybe I should’ve realized that there would be others out there like us, with the capacity to see our cosmic neighbors... and to realize that some of them would wish for our deaths.”

“The Elders have technology far outstripping any of the planets they took over. Even if you were prepared, like Earth tried to be...”

He hissed out another sigh. “Oh, let me wallow in my regrets in peace. I’ll get it out of my system eventually.” Definitely wanting for a different topic of conversation, he looked back at Wiki. “Do this King a favor? Let us move on from the topic.”

Wiki nodded. “Alright. I have to ask—what were the original Vipers like?”

“You would be able to see that in my court. Shel-Za... who I  _ really _ need to crown Queen, considering she gave me the gift of Luina-Ta... is a prime subject. Vipers have internal venom sacs—honestly, any bulging is seen as a health problem and a common sign of irritation of the glands, but I’ve become somewhat used to the sight of the ADVENT Viper’s modifications. It’s not like they can help it, after all. Longer tails, as well—I suppose ADVENT clipped ours for space, or other genetic reasons.” Indeed; Shazara-Ta’s tail was longer than the other Vipers Wiki was used to dealing with. “Otherwise, outside of simply ensuring there were no males for the females to mate with? They didn’t change us much, it seems. I was entirely surprised, yet not complaining, when I learned that ADVENT Vipers aren’t sterile.”

One didn’t need to think long to figure how he found that out. Muttering a short “I see” to show she acknowledged the point but was a little too nervous to ask about it, Wiki went on to her next question. “To your knowledge, can Vipers have the Gift?”

“Not that I know of.” Shazara-Ta shrugged. “I’ve heard there is an installation on this ship that would allow one to gain psionics, and I was half-interested in trying it out myself.” For a second, he looked rather bitter, but shook his head—and with it, the expression. “It’s not as if I can become any more of a perversion of nature. I need to get these thorns shaved...”

“I’m sure Tygan would be willing to help with that, if not extract them entirely.”

Shazara-Ta bristled for a second, then sighed again. “I still can’t believe Celosia was fine going there on her own... but, I digress. Perhaps he could help. I would just need to fight down every urge to lash out at him for his choice of apparel and location.”

Right. Wiki had been told the circumstances of the situation by Eliza when she asked. She looked to the side. “Sorry for being insensitive.”

“Please. It was a suggestion born of good intentions.” Shazara-Ta sat up more properly. “Celosia was right, anyway. I need to give that man more of a chance. I trust the Commander of this ship, so whoever she has on her vessel must have proved themselves worthy somehow. Even if I had my reservations about the Chosen at first, I have come to trust them just as well. Perhaps my opinion is slightly colored knowing the Assassin was responsible for saving Luina-Ta in his time of need, but I believe it an action attesting to her character.”

“Well, you’re not the only one who might be biased.” Wiki spread her hand out. “Mordenna literally brought me back to life, so I really owe it to him now. I think they’ve genuinely turned themselves around, honestly.”

“Agreed.” Shazara-Ta’s smile was tired, but fond. “Luina-Ta keeps asking about when he can see the ‘two-legged nice alien’ again. I suppose I need to ask the Assassin if she would be fine visiting him at some point.”

While Wiki chuckled at the thought of Fal-Mai babysitting a Neonate, the door opened. Shel-Za was on the other side, leaning in. “Ah—am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing that we can’t just continue later.” Wiki stood up. “If you need him for something, go right ahead.”

“Thank you, Wiki.” Shel-Za came in. “My King? Rodin asks for you.”

“If this is about that whole ‘legs’ business,” Shazara-Ta fondly grumbled, getting up, “I’ll have him know that I think he’d look just as lovely with a tail.” He nodded to Wiki. “I’d be fine continuing the interview at another time, if you are.”

“Of course!” Wiki bowed. “Thank you for letting me have the chance to learn more about you and your kind.”

Shazara-Ta waved the gesture off. “No need to be so formal, I’m hardly a King anymore. Still, you are certainly welcome.”

Shazara-Ta left with Shel-Za. Wiki stopped the recording, putting her hands on her hips. “One down, three to go.”


	26. Belated Birthday

What a year to be alive.

Eliza was currently sitting on one of the few unoccupied stools in the Bar, watching the party in front of her unfold. Technically, it was  _ her _ birthday party, yes—but she’d expressed an interest to sit down and recharge before the cake that was being made was brought out. Her soldiers were thankfully understanding, happy to use the day as an excuse to drink and celebrate. People had been dragging in chairs to sit around the two foldable tables that had brought in, though quite a few of her men were happy to just stand and hang out.

That left Eliza at the bar proper, leaning against it with a soda in her hands. She felt  _ plenty _ guilty that she’d fallen off the wagon a while ago, so even when Bradford offered to pour one out for old time’s sake, she declined, with a promise to talk later about it. Bradford was a chronic worrywart, but he knew when to not kill the mood. He had taken his usual place behind the bar, keeping the glasses clean and handing out drinks to whoever asked.

Honestly, Eliza would’ve been plenty happy to people-watch her own soldiers had Bradford not spoken up, leaning on the counter behind her so he could talk normally and still be heard. “58th and the Chosen didn’t show up?”

Eliza shrugged. “They were in the room when I decided to drop it on everyone. They knew.”

“Still can’t believe you kept quiet until the day of.”

“I’d rather not have a surprise party.” Eliza sighed. “Hard to say how half of us will react to getting startled nowadays. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to worry about making or getting something for me. As for the Chosen...” She looked back at him. “We used to exploit Jax’s vulnerability to getting bewildered on the regular and Fals doesn’t seem to be too good with lots of noise in general.”

Bradford rubbed at his stubble. “Fair point. Guess Mordenna stayed behind so they wouldn’t feel left out.”

She nodded. “Mordenna has a good head on his shoulders. I’ll see what I can do about saving them some cake and having a quieter celebration. An after party, probably.”

A few seats over, Arsozu perked up. “Someone say after party?”

“Hit the breaks, Arsozu.” Bradford took the Reaper’s empty glass and topped him off again when he motioned for it. “Not the kind you’re thinking of. Unless you want to hang out with the Chosen.”

“Mm, I’m still holding a grudge against Mordy for letting one of his pet Berserkers shatter my ribs.” Arsozu took a swig. “Unlike Elena, however, I know that straight up avoidance is for the best. Sorry that I haven’t been on many loud missions because of that, O’Leary.”

“You’re a Reaper, Gunwok.” Eliza smiled at him. “You’re worth your weight in gold in the quieter missions I run between and during them.”

He grinned back. “Happy to help. And happy birthday.”

Eliza chuckled, swiveling around on her stool to properly look at Bradford. “Thank you, Arsozu. But, yeah. Maybe I’ll be tired enough to sleep after all that, yeah?”

Bradford’s mouth set a little. “I still have some hangups about how long you kept your sleep paralysis under wraps. Could’ve been accommodating you—lord knows Tygan might even have a solution.”

She sighed. “Last thing I need is to wake up on my back in the Lab, John. Sleep paralysis seems more mental than anything else. Just need to keep on my stomach or my sides.”

Bradford looked like there was more he wanted to say to that, but his eyes swept over the crowd of soldiers. “... not the time.”

“Not the time.”

He let a breath out of his nose. “Later, then.” Gesturing to her gauntlets, he handed Mary another beer as she came for one. “That one of your birthday presents?”

Her smile came back. “I’m calling it that. Jax has wanted to get me kitted out like he is for a while, it seems, and honestly I quite like the things.” She felt more powerful, yes, but also a little bit more in control. Less of the nervous buzzing that came with her psionics not being used for too long. “The amp’s a little gaudy, but I think it’s something that’ll grow on me. Like the white hair.”

Bradford chuckled. “Always told me you’d die before you let it get that white.”

“Well, that was mostly my military-born fatalistic attitude talking.” Eliza sipped her soda. “I actually think it’s kinda nice, nowadays. Doesn’t help that Jax is sharing his hair care tips.”

He rolled his eyes. “Knew I heard Tygan going on about making new shampoo a while back. Still, hope you’re not thinking of wading into the fight with those things.”

“You’d crack my skull open if I got into close range, Mr. Ranger.”

“Can it,” he shot back. “I was different twenty years ago, too. I had a face like a baby and my good sweater.”

Eliza laughed, and she swore the room laughed with her, though she was sure it was at some joke she hadn’t heard. “Y’know, we’ve got dedicated tailors on the ship, now, and they called me in to look at the product they’re making for the Black Market. I wouldn’t hesitate to say that you could get that thing back if you let them measure you.”

“Wouldn’t be the same,” he muttered, “and I’m done getting measured. For life. My joints hurt just thinking about it.”

“It’d be just once.”

“One time too many. They’d have to kill me first.”

Eliza reached over and smacked his arm playfully. “Oh, hush. You’ll drop your grievances once you feel the materials they’re working with. No more scratchy bedtime suits.”

“Misery builds character, Liz.”

“I’d rather be underdeveloped as  _ fuck _ than go to bed one more night scratching at myself like I’ve got bedbugs.” She drank. “Let yourself loosen up a little, John. Embrace the fact that better things can happen.”

She hadn’t meant to get too poignant, but her comment made Bradford quiet. She set her drink on the counter, watching him with concern as he took a rag and wiped the countertop down. “... you’re probably right. I know you’re just talking about getting better clothes, but... sometimes I’m afraid I’m gonna wake up and realize the twenty years I spent looking for you are still happening. Feels a little too good to be true that I’m here for your 58th, we haven’t had casualties in  _ months, _ and we have all of the Chosen with us. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

So much for trying to keep the mood light, but... Eliza understood that painfully well. Sometimes she felt like she was just waiting to be yanked back by Argus, the simulation petering out around her. She closed her eyes, staving off the memory for a second before opening them and responding. “Only makes it that much more important that we live up the good times, yeah? Make it better before things go to shit. I get your fears, John, don’t worry. I empathize. But I suppose I can reel this around into the message you were turning it into.”

“Right.” He set the rag down. “... thanks, Liz. For everything. I haven’t always been the best or had my head in the right place. Just when I think I’ve hit the end of my rope, there you are to kick my ass and tell me to keep moving.”

“And just when I think I’m at my limit,” Eliza responded, “you’re there to put me on my feet and tell me there’s no place to go but forward.”

“I’ll always be there, Liz.” He looked at her seriously. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Eliza sighed. “Tell it to the judge. I’ll get it into my thick skull eventually.” She took another drink of her soda. “... Lily and Tygan know the party’s on?”

“Tygan declined, saying he’s not fond of the commotion. Lily said she had work to do.”

“Guess that after party will be for more than just the Chosen, then.” Eliza shrugged. “Maybe we can get some of Jax’s people in on it, considering there’s not many of them here. Something more refined, dare I say.”

“Maybe. It’ll be up to you to get Tygan out of that lab of his.”

“Isn’t it always?” She smiled, thinking about him. Poor workaholic, just like Lily, but he was more reserved. Charming, even.  _ Will you ever stop falling in love with everyone? _ Probably not. “Maybe I’ll lure him out with the promise of ADVENT Burgers.”

“That man and his damn burgers.” Bradford shook his head. “Still, I’ve got faith that you can weasel him out of there. I suppose I should ask if I’m invited to the after party.”

“No.” Eliza managed a straight face for all of three seconds before cracking up. “Oh, of course you are, John. Sure the Chosen will be happy to talk for a bit.”

“So long as they’ll have me. By the way, I heard—”

That was when the door to the Bar opened and Banel stepped in, carting one of the largest cakes Eliza had seen in a while. It was decked out in white and blue, and someone had gone through the trouble of decorating the top with the XCOM symbol—along with “Happy 58th Birthday, Commander.” “I believe I have a cake here for one Ms. O’Leary?”

Bradford smiled at her. “That’s your cue, Liz. Go get ‘em.”

Eliza chuckled, getting out of her seat as her soldiers sent up a cheer. What a good time to be alive.


	27. Anticipated Afterparty

Bradford never thought a day like this would come.

Here he was, making his way over to the Studio to go talk to the Chosen about having a bit of an afterparty. The  _ Chosen. _ Earlier in the year he saw them as only enemies—and earlier than that, threats that could end his search for the Commander. Now it fell to him to make sure they were included in the festivities, an action he was willingly undertaking. He never would’ve seen himself getting into these kinds of situations back then—but times tended to change pretty radically, it seemed.

Still, onto the task at hand. Eliza said she last saw all of them over in the Studio when she left, and she didn’t doubt the fact that they were all probably still hanging out with each other. Bradford didn’t doubt it either, which was why he was heading over there now.

He rounded a corner in the ship just to see Mordenna’s retreating back. Huh. The man was in a different set of clothes. Denim jeans, a green and brown flannel with the sleeves rolled up, and his usual boots. No hood, meaning that Bradford was finally disabused of his notion that Mordenna was bald—that was quite the fluffy half-shave he had. Damn pointy ears, too. “Hunter?”

Mordenna turned around. “Oh, look who it is! Wouldn’t have happened to see Liz around here, would you?”

“As it so happens, I’m coming to ask about something on her behalf.” He walked over to Mordenna, who had stopped in his tracks. “She was wondering if you and your siblings would be interested in a small get-together. Took her telling me to realize why you guys didn’t show up at the Bar to celebrate.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t about to party it up without Jax and Fals. Funny thing what you’re asking, though.” Mordenna crossed his arms casually. “I was looking to find Eliza for that exact reason.”

“Great minds think alike, I suppose.”

“That and she practically imprinted on me thanks the Elders. But the answer’s yes, anyway.”

Bradford nodded. “Studio empty?”

“Yeah, it’s like, eleven o’clock.” Bradford raised an eyebrow at him and Mordenna heaved a sigh. “ _ 2300 hours. _ God. You would think you’d know what I’m on about.”

“For all the grief you give me,” Bradford muttered, “I’d think I deserve to give you some back.”

“That  _ just _ isn’t how this works. Anyway, my sibs are in there, so I’ll just tell ‘em to hang tight. Eliza going to be joining us?”

“Along with Tygan and Lily, if you’re alright with that.” Eliza had already wormed Lily into it and was now finessing Tygan out of the Lab. “Liz figured they could stand to take a break before bed.”

“Assuming they get back to bed, of course. But yeah, no complaints outta me. Would be happy to see more of them out of their respective hellholes.”

“You and I both.” He started to walk past Mordenna. “Might as well go with you back to the Studio.”

Mordenna nodded. “Fine by me. You and I don’t talk too often, do we?”

“Not much. You can call the Workshop a hellhole all you like—you spend a lot of your time down there.”

“Hey.” He pointed to Bradford. “I spend a healthy amount of time over in the Studio bothering my siblings and entertaining whoever’s in there. I’d like to think my social life is healthier than Lily’s. Not that it should be a contest, because I agree that she needs to get out of there more often.”

“I get you.” Bradford focused on the hallway ahead. “And I’ve managed to talk Eliza into handing me more of her duties, so I’ve been keeping busy trying to lighten her workload.”

“Maybe we could find more time to hang out in the Bar or something? I’m sure Jax would always have you down in the Studio.”

“I’ll think about it.” Which was to say he’d definitely try to make more time for it. Mordenna seemed interested in talking to him more, which he would maybe admit made him feel better. He was still trying to give Eliza an easier time of things, and it made him remember the offer he made to Fal-Mai. She’d never really followed up on it, but maybe he needed to make himself look more available? He was starting to see how Eliza worked herself to the bone like she did.

Mordenna tapped the pad to the Studio and walked in. “Hope you do, old man. Would like to see more of you.” He then looked into the room. Bradford caught sight of Jax and Fal-Mai casually lounging together on a quite frankly  _ huge _ bean bag chair in the room. When was he going to be informed about all this? Jax had a datapad in his hands and Fal-Mai had that drone in her lap—white and blue like that porcelain pattern, spherical with four spider-like legs, and did it always have rabbit ears? They both looked up as Mordenna entered. “Greetings, losers and losettes. Here to inform you that Liz had the idea of the afterparty before us.”

“I am not a  _ losette, _ ” Fal-Mai grumbled jokingly as Jax chuckled and set the datapad to the side. She looked to Bradford and nodded. “Greetings, Central. It’s been a while.”

“Sure has.” Bradford walked in, considering the seating arrangement. After a moment of consideration, he dragged up one of the bean bags for himself and took a seat. Mordenna himself flopped on Fal-Mai’s vacant side, already comfy in his chair. Bradford crossed his arms. “I’ll let the two of you know as well—Eliza’s going to try to bring Shen and Tygan in as well, hopefully let them socialize a bit more than they do. She’ll also be bringing what’s left of the cake if any of you are interested.”

“Sweets aren’t my thing,” Mordenna replied, “but I’m sure Jax here would get a kick out of it.”

“Indeed. I’ll admit to being partial to such things.”

Fal-Mai looked like she was considering it a bit, then screwed up her face. “As much as I would like to partake... I cannot  _ imagine _ the sensation of having more solid food. Liquid is all I may handle.”

Well, Bradford didn’t think about it much, but they really  _ didn’t _ need to eat, did they? He took their absence at mealtimes to be regular now, but it never really crossed his mind. “So how do you three even  _ operate _ without food?”

Jax and Fal-Mai looked to Mordenna, probably expecting him to know. Mordenna shrugged. “To be blunt, I haven’t the slightest. Elders probably gave us some sort of connection with the Void that nourishes us? I’ve got no fucking clue. The  _ one time _ I asked to dissect Jax to find out, apparently he wouldn’t take one for science.”

Jax scoffed. “I was not about to have you dissect me while I still lived to satisfy your curiosity.”

“See? Killjoy.” Mordenna spread out his hand. “And it’s weird, too, you think they’d make some note of it on our Ascension files, but they never did. I guess what they were doing was so  _ common _ to them that they didn’t feel the need to take it down.”

Well, that was a lot of words to not answer Bradford’s question at all. He didn’t begrudge them for not knowing, but until Mordenna  _ did _ dissect another Chosen, he supposed it’d be a mystery. “Right. I figure even if you  _ did _ know the logistics of it would fly right over my head.” Ah, he’d forgotten something. He held up a finger to the three of them, adjusting his communicator to talk to Eliza. “Hey, Liz? Sorry for being late, Mordenna caught me in conversation. The Chosen are good with the idea of the afterparty.”

A second passed, but Eliza eventually answered. “ _ Good to hear. Just convinced Tygan to get out of the Lab, with Lily’s help. I’ll pick up the cake and we’ll be on our way. _ ”

“Roger that.” He rested his arm back on the bag. “You two  _ are _ alright with Lily and Tygan coming, right?”

“Of course.” Jax nodded. “They strike me as the type who would not have been at the initial celebration, as with us. I would not deny them a quieter party and the chance to spend more time with their Commander.”

“Agreed.” Fal-Mai was absentmindedly petting her drone. “Admittedly, I do not talk to either of them as much as I should. Perhaps this will be a welcome opportunity.”

“Good to hear. Both of them could do with a little more socialization, if you ask me.” They were both  _ terrible _ workaholics. He got a stronger sense of that out of Lily than he did Tygan. Tygan was harder to get a read on in general—he seemed like the reserved, no-nonsense type, but Bradford really couldn’t put his finger on what seemed off about it. “I know Lily hears a lot out of you at least, Mordenna.”

“Yeah she just has to  _ deal _ with me.” Mordenna folded his arms behind his head, leaning back. “The minute Liz let me have free run of the Workshop she signed Lily up for my antics for as long as she holds off the urge to kill me. Definitely needs to get out of there more, though, and I guess I could do the same.”

“You’re practically in the Studio every other day,” Fal-Mai replied. “You seem to be striking a healthy balance to me.”

“Yeah, well.” Mordenna’s mouth set in a line. “... dunno, then.”

Fal-Mai shrugged. “Perhaps I could come to you. I could talk with you and Lily as you work, if it would not be too distracting.”

He went right back to smiling at that notion. “Ah, me and Lily talk each other’s ears off as we’re working anyway. Having a third speaker in that conversation won’t change much. You can very well invite yourself in at any time you please.” Jabbing a finger at Jax, he went on. “You too, mister! Feel free to pop on down to the Workshop whenever the hell you want. I know you have your little ducklings to tend to in here—”

“ _ Ducklings? _ ”

“—but you won’t be bothering me if you ever make it down to the Workshop.”

Jax went “hmph.” “I would not call them  _ ducklings, _ but that aside, I will keep it in mind.”

Mordenna rubbed his chin. “I guess I can go visit Tygan sometimes, too. Man strikes me as needing a little bit more help than he gets.”

“He’s got his scientists,” Bradford replied, “but even they tend to stick to the sub-lab that Eliza commissioned. Sends his orders to ‘em regarding whatever he’s researching at the moment.”

The Hunter’s smile fell a bit. “That man’s just isolating himself, isn’t he? Ain’t good for him. I’ll definitely have to kick down his door eventually.”

“Be glad if you did.”

Mordenna nodded, his eyes drifting to Fal-Mai’s drone. He whistled at it and freed up his hands, and it scuttled right into his lap, Fal-Mai permitting it with a smile. He began petting it, mood lightened once more. “Adorable little thing. Need to make me that nervous inplant for my own Specter array.”

Jax’s eyebrows raised. “Dabbling in more transhumanism, Mordenna?”

“More like trans-Chosen-ism. Besides, already am. What’s more on top?”

More... what? Chosen? Augmented? Whatever the case, Bradford shook his head. “And just when I thought things could get any more sci fi around here...”

“Hey, things were always going to go in that direction eventually.” Mordenna splayed out a hand, but he kept the other on the drone. The drone was making subtle, soft clicking noises as he kept petting it. “If humans refuse to evolve by augmenting themselves with technology more than they already do, more resources for me and anyone else who wants my services.”

“If I ever need some sort of robo-suit to put my brain in,” Bradford grumbled, “I guess you’ll be my first port of call.”

“See! That’s the spirit.” Mordenna shrugged with his hand out. “Besides, if the Sarcophagus I’ll be working on between projects works out, everyone who wants immortality is gonna have to be psionic anyway. Might as well augment yourself before the rush starts.”

Honestly, Bradford didn’t know about a version of him with psionics. First of all, he already had trouble with his hair trying to turn white without needing help from latent superpowers. Also, even if it was just for five days, he didn’t want to not be available to Eliza for that long. To anyone who needed him, really. Maybe Mordenna could be a suitable replacement if needed, but still. He sighed, rubbing at his mouth. “I’ll have to think about it. Really don’t want to be cooped up in that Psi Lab for almost a week, but I won’t deny the fact that immortality is tempting. Still, something struck him. “... wait, would the immortality come with no aging, or?”

“Most likely.” Jax was the one to answer that. “A sufficient enough connection with the Void can see it rejuvenating you. The power of the Void can sustain one’s lifespan—it is the overuse of psionics on an unprepared body that begins to wear one out. Of course, that is only in a sensory capacity—and through the use of alternative methods, you could still perceive the world in a way.”

“Like Edgar and his ravens?”

“Precisely.”

“Still, you’ve been using psionics for what, twenty years? Does the Chosen thing also prevent you from going blind?”

He nodded. “If my brother is correct, we were meant to be one of the ways the Elders would find new bodies to inhabit. An experiment, along with all of the  _ other _ reasons.” Jax sighed. “Nevertheless, it meant that they were seeing just how humans could withstand psionics, and I am a walking monument of that. Even if the day comes that I lose my sight, hearing, what have you...” He looked to Mordenna. “I trust Mordenna will have a solution.”

“D’aw, thanks.” Mordenna grinned. “Replacing people’s eyes will be an interesting one, considering I don’t know if I can just go Specter on that. Have to link up the connection with the brain, after all, and I don’t want to have active control over that cord.”

Bradford shook his head. “I’m going to have to stop you before you go into technicals before someone needs to replace  _ my _ brain.”

Mordenna snickered. “If you insist, Central.”

That was when the door opened. The first to walk in was Eliza, balancing the box the cake was in with one hand and some plates and forks with the other. Bradford half-thought to chide her for taking everything. Behind her were Tygan and Lily. The former actually had his lab coat off, surprisingly, with his datapad on a new clip on his belt.

Eliza walked in enough to allow Lily and Tygan to enter, chuckling at the sight of Bradford. “You all comfy?”

“Oh,  _ absolutely, _ Liz.” Mordenna stretched out like a cat for a second—and with his hand off of the drone, it made a beeline for Jax’s beckoning hands. “Goddamnit, Jax.”

Jax grinned wickedly. “ _ You snooze you lose. _ ”

“Don’t you  _ ever _ get that informal on me, I swear to god!”

The whole interaction left Fal-Mai giggling and Eliza snickering, coming over with everything. Lily sighed, walking over and plopping down in one of the bean bag chairs. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve never left the Workshop, but I guess that’s just Mordenna for you.”

“I have to deal with a  _ treacherous _ brother and you’re still beating me while I’m down?!” Mordenna threw his hands up. “That’s it. Eliza please help, everyone’s bullying me.”

“Oh, you’ve gone through worse.” Eliza pulled up a bag next to Bradford. As she set down the cake and dishes, Tygan quietly picked out the  _ other _ huge bean bag and sunk into that. “Anyhow, happy birthday to me, and all. There should be enough left for everyone to get one reasonably-sized slice if they want—Banel made like, two cakes, bless his heart.”

“Didn’t know that man knew how to cook,” Bradford muttered. He had his fair share during the party proper, so he’d pass.

“Baking’s a major hobby of his.” Eliza picked up the plates and offered them to Mordenna. He shrugged, taking one and passing it to Jax.

Jax took his, humming in thought. “Leave it to the ever-studious Commander to know the capacities of her soldiers.” Tygan took his plate without comment.

Lily grabbed hers, passing the stack to Bradford. “You tend to remember a lot about the soldiers, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Bradford didn’t take one, so Eliza picked out her own and set the rest down next to the box. “I would hope so, anyway. We’re not a formal military outfit and I’m not guiding hundreds of soldiers, so I’d like to think I could get to know them. Make them feel a bit more at home with the person asking them to walk into danger, yeah?”

“A noble line of thought, at least.” Fal-Mai gave a short sigh. “I hardly think I could associate with that many people.”

“Honestly, I don’t blame you.” Eliza opened up the box. There was certainly a fair amount of cake left—and with two people skipping out on servings, everyone else could have two at least. She began doling out slices to whoever offered their plates. “But the military kinda conditions you to know a lot of people.”

“And kick their asses,” Bradford added. “Still can’t get over the fact that was how we met.”

Mordenna raised an eyebrow, shoving a bite of cake into his mouth. “Never did get that story, I think. Mind if we hear it?”

Usually Eliza wasn’t much of a fan of sharing stories from back then, Bradford knew that much. He knew well what she’d turned into—and what she thought of it nowadays. Interestingly, she nodded. “Sure enough. It’s early enough in my bitter history that I can tell.” She jerked a thumb at Bradford. “Bradford here reminds me of Herod in a few ways, and one of them was trying to be friends with people who had rightfully lost them back then.”

He groaned, massaging his temples. “Look, I was a little too fresh-faced when things started out, alright?”

“Not saying you didn’t learn pretty fast. Anyway, military tends to collect the worst types, yeah? People you think only exist in sitcoms and as villains. One of Bradford’s friends was like that and thought that one of the best ways he could make his way up in the social ranks was by picking on all the women. Thanks to the way one of my superior officers treated me, he tried to start in on me first.” She gave a short sigh. “Keyword here is  _ tried. _ ”

“By the time I came over to figure out why Daniel was hollering in pain,” Bradford finished, “he was already the proud owner of a broken nose. Eliza was half a second away from wiping the floor with him further, and I was the one to get in the way to try to stop her.” He chuckled. “Keyword here is  _ tried. _ ”

Eliza snickered at the echoing of her words. “Hey, look, you do still understand why I ended up giving you a black eye, right?”

“Surprised it didn’t get damaged,” he grumbled. He knew pretty quickly, and he hadn’t ever been intending to stand up for that bastard. Once he was done reeling, he told Eliza that if she went any further, she was bound to get investigated. “Thankfully Daniel didn’t want to admit he got his ass handed to him by a woman and I was fine saying I got the black eye from him. Eliza here narrowly escaped a dishonorable discharge and I got a far better friend in exchange.”

Fal-Mai nodded. “I had heard you mention it in passing before, but this certainly puts it into context. Was he not ‘court martialed’ later?”

“Yeah, but I usually don’t say why because it kills the mood and makes me wonder why I was friends with him in the first place.”

The Commander swallowed down some cake. “We’ll say it was a serious conviction and he deserved it and move on.” Daniel got curb-checked for sexual assault. By the time he’d done it, Eliza had been transitioning into her First Contact personality... and had used it very well in getting them to listen to her and the woman Daniel had assaulted. “As for what we’re moving on to?” She gestured to Jax. “Nice duds. Are the Tailors busy, or could I ask for some late birthday gift clothes? I am well into the age where I  _ love _ getting socks for birthdays.”

With the serious topic dodged, Jax gave a smooth smile. “Though I loathe that I cannot do something for you myself—though I shall see to that any way I can—I may certainly ask my Tailors if they would like to do something for you. Knowing them,  _ and _ knowing they will learn they had nothing prepared for your birthday, I highly suspect you will have their attention.”

“Good! And if they need any more supplies, let me know, we’re due to stop by the Black Market.” Originally it had been to warn them of an upcoming raid, but with the revelation that they had fallen for ADVENT’s lie? It was now to stock up. “Speaking of... do they have the commission clothes done?”

Jax nodded. “They have completed their tasks successfully, though I personally cannot vouch for the  _ quality _ of the products so much.” He sighed.

Lily raised an eyebrow. “What are they making,  _ lingerie? _ ”

“Indeed.” Jax’s straight answer caused Lily to have a lot more trouble with her next bite. “‘Women’s’ outerwear is about all I am versed in.”

“They’re  _ dresses, _ ” Mordenna said exasperatedly. “I don’t see no bio tags on them asking for two X chromosomes—and even  _ then _ that’s a bad way to tag a woman.”

But... weren’t two X chromosomes what made a woman, well, a woman? Maybe there were some new things Bradford needed to catch up on. He’d leave the matter be, assuring himself that Mordenna knew what he was on about. But still, he had a comment on the subject. “The premium goods are  _ underwear? _ ”

“As  _ interesting _ as it is,” Lily replied, having recovered from her shock, “I can kinda see why. I don’t think a high priority for scavengers is going to be lingerie shops, but that doesn’t mean there’s not going to be demand for it. Underwear’s underwear, and people are always gonna want fancy stuff to make themselves better. Tailors probably got a few buy orders of specific sizes and measurements, right?” When Jax nodded, she shrugged. “Probably specific people in the market asking for them.”

“I’m not surprised, at least.” Eliza ate fast—she’d already killed the slice of cake she’d taken. “Besides, could always use more underwear. Might ask around the soldiers and see what everyone needs clothes-wise. Though that might need a trip by the Black Market.”

Jax hummed in thought. “If I recall correctly...” He looked over to Tygan. “Doctor, have you been able to create the synthetic fabric for them?”

Tygan looked like he’d been put on the spot a bit, but he nodded. “I had the chance to both work out some potential approaches in that area and speak with Celosia regarding a number of other plants she can assist me in nurturing. If everything works out, we may be seeing both an increase in our produce stock and a surplus of plant-based fibers in the near future.”

“Oh, yeah.” Eliza nodded. “The Alien Ruler that’s pretty much a living plant must be a great consultant for our greenhouse, right?”

“Very much so. Her kind is evidently well-versed in the mutation of other flora—the Queens especially. I was... pleasantly surprised she was willing to work with me after what her and her fellows had been through.”

“Not to think of Vahlen on my own birthday, but  _ jeez. _ ” Eliza shook her head. “Happy day, this is a happy day, and I wanna hear more about the plants! What kind of increases are we talking about?”

Tygan seemed more comfortable getting into talking about his work. “With her assistance and an adjustment in watering and nutrient cycles, we can expect an increase in growth and yield surpassing that of previous genetically-modified organisms. Luck and work providing, it might be  _ us _ contributing food to the Black Market instead of the other way around.”

“Hell yeah.” Mordenna gestured with his fork. “You know how much fresh produce would move for? That’s the real premium product right there—it’s food and it’s gotta go quickly, but damn if people won’t be loving the notion of something  _ fresh _ down in the market. Of course, this is assuming we get a meaningful surplus.”

“If you ask me,” Lily interjected, “I think we should be taking the seeds Celosia modifies and providing them to the havens. If I remember correctly, Sherry and March were the ones who helped us get the greenhouse set up—maybe we could spread that knowledge around to help out with the effort.”

“Well, of course.” Mordenna shrugged. “Not like we can’t do both. We might lose the corner of the market on it, but whatever—best to provide if we have it rather than create artificial scarcity.” He nodded to Eliza. “Thoughts, Commander?”

Eliza tapped her fork against her lip, getting that certain look on her face that told Bradford she was thinking. She then sighed, but cocked a smile. “... is it a bad thing I’m considering rolling out the seeds and methods to the havens who haven’t given me shit first? I think both of your ideas are great, but y’know. First access bonus to people who’ve been with me through thick and thin.”

Mordenna snickered. “Sounds like a great plan to me, Commander. Still best to make sure everyone gets them, but the supportive havens can ‘conveniently’ get theirs first.”

“It’s settled then, I suppose.” Eliza smiled at Tygan. “Thanks for helping out and coordinating Celosia in that particular area, Tygan. You’re always a force of good on this ship.”

Emotions were hard to get a read out of from Tygan, but it was clear he was restraining that calm smile from something more blatant. “I always seek to put in as much as anyone else on the ship has, Commander. I consider it an honor to be recognized.”

“My policy is: if you do good, you’ll get recognized for it.”

Bradford chuckled. “And don’t we all thrive off of that.”

“I, for one,” Mordenna said, “like my validation like my coffee—injected  _ right _ into my bloodstream.”

Fal-Mai knit her brow. “I... am fairly sure that’s not how it works.”

“Not with that attitude it doesn’t.”

Jax reached over and gently planted his hand on Mordenna’s head. “Please do not even give Fal-Mai the idea that coffee can be injected.”

“Watch the hair!” He batted at his brother’s hand and Jax relented, smiling. “Honestly, for a guy with hair like a wizard’s beard you’d think to keep your hands off of mine.”

Jax raised an eyebrow. “For a man who constantly wears a hood, I would think you  _ bald. _ ”

“Shut the  _ absolute hell _ up!”

Bradford laughed genuinely as the others did. This was going to be a hell of a night.


	28. Midnight Inadequacy

It was midnight in the Avenger and Mordenna was doing just dandy.

Of course, that statement would have to be marked with an asterisk and followed with a lengthy footnote describing the details of his condition. Mordenna was  _ fine. _ Ostensibly. But his brain wanted so badly to beat him the hell up with self-loathing. He was keeping it at bay by walking to the Mess Hall, making himself a pot of the strongest, darkest coffee he could muster, then walking back to the Workshop with it. Yeah, he’d brought a mug, but he’d really need to remember to return the pot before morning, or he’d have more rioting than when he suggested removing it for an afternoon or so to upgrade it.

His thoughts were kept off a little longer when he tapped the door to the Workshop and a familiar face was in there. “Lily Shen,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, “I thought I told you to go to bed.”

He kept his voice low, because it was pretty obvious she was going through something herself. She was slumped over on her worktable, supporting her head loosely with one of her arms and staring at a blueprint. There was nothing on it, tellingly. She sighed. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Mordenna walked in, and after a moment of thinking, he set his mug down in front of her, pouring her a cup and keeping the pot for himself. He dragged his workbench over, sitting down and sipping at the glass pot. “So.”

Lily closed her eyes, though it did nothing for the bags under them. “Not feeling for jokes right now, Mordenna.”

“Well, lucky you, I’m not feeling for them either. There’s a reason why someone eternally-awake like me went for coffee, because it was that or alcohol.” He took another drink. “Depression? Welcome to the club, what’s going on.”

“It’s... not like it matters, especially considering you’re—”

“Lily, I hate to be blunt,” he interrupted her with, “but your imposter syndrome is showing. Is that what’s got you this time? Because let me tell you, you were keeping XCOM afloat and impressing me  _ long _ before O’Leary nabbed me.”

“... not as afloat as—”

“Oh  _ hush _ for god’s sake.” Maybe he was being a little too brutal, but Lily needed to hear it. “Starting to think that ever since I showed up you see me as some sort of competition to be surpassed. Well, news flash, Lily—I’m immortal, don’t need to eat or sleep, and forcibly had my mind altered to accommodate all this technical knowledge I’m slinging around, and Odin had to practically erase the memories of my past life to imprint it all in there. Not to  _ mention _ I’ve got Eliza’s tactical knowledge—and a few other bits—kicking around in my skull. Hate to break it to you but that’s not something you’re ever going to keep up with, unless you’d like to look into becoming a Chosen like me. Take it from me—the idea’s nice until you’re tired or just want to stop thinking for like, seven hours. Bottom line? I’ll let you stay up now so we can talk about all this, but you need to start actually looking after your goddamn self.”

Lily was quiet for a minute, opening her eyes but not meeting Mordenna’s. After a while, she finally spoke back up. “... I wasn’t awake thanks to the imposter syndrome, but I guess it doesn’t help. I’m just... I’m just always afraid I’m going to fall behind or be  _ replaced. _ That I’m not going to live up to the legacy left to me.”

Mordenna considered that, drinking more of the coffee. “You and Eliza are pretty alike in some aspects. She’s thinking she needs to be strong for everyone, so she works herself to the breaking point. You think you won’t be good enough, so you do the same. Bet you if she knew you’d be breaking her heart.”

Lily groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “ _ Please _ don’t bring that up. I don’t need to know anything about breaking Eliza’s heart right now.”

Hm. Mordenna was cottoning onto what was keeping Lily awake. Still, he’d get around to asking eventually. “Then stop it. Give yourself breaks and know that destroying yourself is the  _ least _ likely way to live up to any legacy left to you.” Mordenna knew the legacy she was on about, at least. He’d been to those towers after XCOM cleared them out, and watched the video from Raymond. It... made him a little jealous, then, to know Lily had a father that loved her more than the world and considered her his greatest gift to humanity. He’d wanted that. Might’ve led to another  _ episode, _ and thinking on it now? He still felt that stab of envy. “I don’t think your father would’ve wanted you to break down over not being good enough.”

Lily winced, muttering “how did you...?” She pressed her hands to her eyes. “I... I-I just don’t want to...”

Well, Mordenna could see when he struck a nerve. This time it wasn’t a barbed remark, just a soft reminder that hit home. He put the coffee pot on the table, getting up and sitting next to Lily. He drew her in for a hug, holding her tightly. “Hey. When I say that, I mean it in the best way possible. I’m sure your father wanted the best for you—so taking breaks and acknowledging that you’re doing the best you can would be living up to that legacy. Plus...  _ I _ don’t want to see you broken down because you’re trying to keep up with me. My advantages come with their own problems, sis. Hurts me to see you thinking you’re not good enough.”

Lily leaned into him, hiccupping. She didn’t say anything, just sniffled and sounded like she was doing her best to prevent herself from crying. Mordenna sighed. “Look, if you need to cry, you need to cry. Don’t play tough trying to save face. Let me put it this way: I will feel better if you cry because then I’ll know you’re working through it instead of trying to bottle it all up.”

It was then that Lily hugged him back, pressing her face into his chest and slowly working her way into sobbing. Mordenna held her as she did, softly rubbing her back. If Eliza could be there for him—if  _ he _ could be there for Eliza, he could be there for Lily, his unofficial sister. It really did hurt him to imagine her hurting herself trying to keep up, to an ideal she’d never meet without drastic changes to herself. Honestly, Mordenna didn’t want her to change herself if it was just to keep up with him. It wouldn’t be good for her.

Eventually, Lily cried herself out, leaning against Mordenna quietly for a bit before sniffling. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you apologize to me, missy.”

That got a weary chuckle. “Fine. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything you wanna talk about?”

Lily backed off from the hug, palming at her eyes. “Not much, other than you’re right. It’s... hard to get out of the mindset of just not being good enough. I worry a lot that I’m not doing enough to live up to dad’s legacy. But, I think you said it best. I’ll have a  _ really _ hard time keeping up if I’m dead from stress.”

“That’s the spirit.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now, what was keeping you up?”

Lily sighed, finally taking the mug and drinking from it. “... can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on what it is, though I wouldn’t share it from it being juicy. Just if it’s something that someone like Eliza  _ really _ needs to know.”

“Oh god  _ please _ don’t tell Eliza what I’m about to tell you.” Lily massaged her temples. “I... I think I’m in love with her.”

Despite himself, Mordenna couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head. He picked up the pot again and took a swig. “Jesus christ, join the club.”

“Y-you too?”

“Me, Jax, Fal-Mai,  _ pretty _ sure about Bradford, Rodin, god knows the other rulers too, Volk, and I caught the Baroness giving her some funny looks.”

Lily groaned. “Now I  _ really _ don’t stand a chance.”

“What, who do you think will actually win?” She stared at him as if it was obvious. He rolled his eyes. “Count of three. One, two, three.”

“Bradford,” they said simultaneously.

Mordenna let out a breath. “It’s so damn obvious, ain’t it? Classic love story: ‘Commanding Officer Falls in Love with Underling.’ The chemistry is fucking off the charts and you  _ know _ the two of them will be dancing around it the whole way.”

Lily threw her hand out. “Oh, you know Bradford’s so old fashioned that he’s gonna go around saying ‘an officer shouldn’t fall in love with his superior!’”

“XCOM ain’t a fucking military outfit anymore,” Mordenna grumbled empathetically. “He could at least see that.”

Lily leaned back on the table. “Only a matter of time, really.”

“Still, what about Eliza?” He threw up a hand. “Never really heard her pining for anybody.” She’d acknowledged a few people as  _ attractive, _ but he was pretty sure that wasn’t indicative of romantic viability.

“Good point.” Lily shrugged. “Maybe we’re all barking up a tree that’ll never respond. Maybe Liz just doesn’t want a partner.”

Well, that only added to Mordenna’s defeatism. “Yeah. Could see her at least not wanting one now while the war’s going on. Distraction from commanding.”

“Maybe none of us are meeting her standards.”

“Fair point.” Maybe he could work on himself a little bit more. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Lily took a long drink of her coffee. “That just leaves the feelings we have to deal with, huh?”

“Yeah.” Mordenna rubbed his neck. “I’d... like to think I’m at the stage where I’m just happy to have her as a friend. Don’t get me wrong, I’d make that girl mine if she were fine with it, but... having known her like I have, I think that’s good enough for me. She makes me happy enough just as a friend.”

“Wish I was that adjusted. I’m happy to know her too, I just...” She sighed again. “I just really wish I was brave enough to find out what she was thinking.”

“Me too.” Mordenna paused. “So. Wanna work on Jax’s armor together?”

“Yeah.”

That, Mordenna could get behind. It was better than pining uselessly.


End file.
